Batman V Superman Reimagined
by JJ Rust
Summary: My version of BVS. The Battle of Metropolis cost Bruce Wayne a dear friend. As the months go by, he views the Man of Steel as more and more of a threat, and decides he must be stopped. Meanwhile, Lex Luthor views all costumed heroes as a threat, and will go to great lengths to eliminate them. What will happen when the two agendas collide?
1. Chapter 1

"Lucius, get everyone out now!" Bruce Wayne shouted into his cell phone. His heart raced and his chest tightened as he gazed out the helicopter's windshield at the alien ship hovering over Metropolis.

"I'm on it, Bruce. Security's directing everyone out of the building as quick as possible."

Bruce watched a beam shoot down from the alien ship. Debris rose and fell back to the ground. "Make it quicker."

"You know I will."

The Bell helicopter's skids barely touched the helipad deck when he threw open the door and jumped out. He ignored the downdraft from the rotors and hurried to the waiting black Jeep Renegade. The roar of jets filled the sky. He lifted his head. A whale-like C-17 transport plane flew overhead, followed by a squadron of arrow-shaped F-35s. He drew a breath, praying they could destroy the alien ship.

"I just touched down," he told Lucius as he slid into the Jeep. "I should be at Wayne Technical soon."

"It may be better for you to go back to Gotham. I can handle this."

"I know you can, but I'm the boss. My company, my responsibility."

"Yeah, well, taking risks isn't new to you, is it? Hopefully we'll be on the street by the time you get here."

Bruce nodded and started the engine. "I'll see you soon. Be careful."

"You too."

He flung the phone onto the passenger's seat and sped away from the heliport. He crushed the steering wheel, whipping around slow or stopped cars. Thousands crowded the streets and sidewalks, fleeing from the ship. Several times he braked or swerved to avoid them. Other times he turned down side streets or alleys when his route was blocked.

Tremors rippled through the vehicle. Each time he took a staggered breath. He looked up between the tall buildings, watching a shower of debris fall around the alien ship. Sweat covered him, waves of fear rushing through his soul. Not fear for himself. Fear for the people of Metropolis. Fear for his employees at Wayne Technical.

Fear for his old friend Lucius Fox.

 _Please be okay, please be okay._ Without Lucuis, there may not have ever been a Batman. How many vehicles and gadgets had the man built for him? How many times had he spilled his guts to Lucius when everything he'd witnessed as his alter ego threatened to overwhelm him?

 _Why did he have to tour the damn place today?_ Bruce gritted his teeth. _He'll be all right. He has to be._

He whipped the Jeep down another street. He should be about twelve blocks from Wayne Technical. Not long until –

The car bounced off the ground, then slammed back to the street. The quake rattled Bruce's insides. He thought the car would shake apart.

A pile of debris crashed on the street in front of him. He slammed on the brakes. Tires squealed. The Jeep's hood came within inches of the pile.

Bruce threw the car in reverse. He twisted the wheel left, then braked.

More debris littered the street.

His aggravation burned hotter. He shoved open the door, grabbed his phone, and ran. He weaved around some debris and climbed over other chunks of steel and concrete.

The evil horn sounded again. Bruce turned to the ship. Its beam flickered on and off. Debris rose and crashed back to earth.

His fist closed around the cell phone and shook. _I should be doing something._ But what? His bat suit was back in Gotham. Even if he had it, alien spaceships were way out of his league. Same with those superpowered Kryptonians.

 _When have you ever let the odds stop you?_ Right now, he had no idea how to stop that ship or the aliens it brought here. All he could do was focus on his people at Wayne Technical. Afterwards, he could think of something.

If there was an afterwards.

He charged down the street. His lungs burned. The muscles in his legs turned into metal coils. He may be in better shape than most men his age. Still, 41 was 41. It was hell getting old.

A mass of people ran past him. He dodged them, gazing up at the tall glass tower that housed Wayne Technical. He started to dial Lucius when he caught something out the corner of his eye.

The C-17 dove toward the alien ship. Bruce held his breath. A kamikaze run? Would that really –

A bright blue flash blinded Bruce. He turned away and blinked a few times. When he turned back around, both the alien ship and the C-17 had vanished.

Relief swelled within him. They'd done it. The ship was destroyed.

He dialed Lucius, his gaze returned to the Wayne Technical building. "How's everything going?"

"I think we have most of our people out," said Lucius. "I'm making one last sweep, just to make sure."

"Okay, the Air Force just took out that ship. Still, one or two of those Kryptonian freaks might still be around. So get out of there and -"

A brilliant red beam sliced through the lower half of Wayne Techincal. Clouds of flame and smoke burst from the windows.

"LUCIUS!" Bruce stared at the flaming building with unblinking eyes. His body grew cold with terror as the top half fell.

"Bruce!" Lucius cried out. "I can't . . . oh God!" His voice cracked. "Tell . . ."

Static.

"NO!"

Bruce still screamed as the building crashed to the ground. An enormous brown cloud kicked up and swept through the surrounding streets.

Everyone ran away from it. Bruce ran into it, throwing his arm over his eyes. His throat clenched. His eyes grew wet. _Lucius. No, no, no._

He emerged from the cloud slowing as he came upon the rubble of Wayne Technical. Bruce gaped. He'd held out a slim hope that Lucius may have found a way to survive, but looking at this . . .

His legs shook. A tear slide down his cheek. Lucius? Dead?

"Somebody help!"

Bruce whipped his head left. Two men, one in a suit, the other in a white security guard shirt, crouched over someone pinned by rubble. He rushed over to them, hearing a woman's agonized cries.

"C'mon." He shoved his hands under the block of concrete and groaned, muscles straining and burning. The other two men also lifted. The slab rose a little bit, a little bit more.

Another man climbed over the rubble and pulled out the woman. She wailed. Once free, Bruce and the others let the slab drop.

He looked down at the woman, a thin blond in her mid-twenties. Tear stains streaked her face, covered in gray soot. The name badge on her blouse identified her as Gabrielle Lynns.

"My legs," she sobbed. "I can't feel my legs."

Bruce gritted his teeth at the blood covering the woman's legs. "Don't worry. We'll get you help." He looked around the street. Would firefighters and paramedics already be on their way? Would they be overwhelmed by this disaster?

 _If I have to, I'll find a doctor and drag his ass back here._

He took three steps when he caught something soaring across the sky. Fireballs, and in the middle of them, two small objects. He squinted his eyes.

They were people! One dressed in black. The other in blue with a cape. Kryptonians, including the one the _Daily Planet_ called Superman.

The two crashed through a building. Another beam blasted out of it. The Kryptonians emerged from the wrecked structure and slammed into another building.

Bruce watched the fight, jaw tight, fist clenched. He thought of the articles he'd read, the news reports he'd seen that depicted Superman as a hero, especially after that battle in Smallville, Kansas. But would a hero allow all this destruction? Even cause it?

Lucius was dead because of this battle. So were hundreds, maybe thousands of others. Did this Superman even give a damn about all the collateral damage, all the deaths he'd caused?

And if he didn't, God help the human race.

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	2. Chapter 2

_18 Months Later_

* * *

The old castle was beautiful, with its pointed spires, battlements, and arches. Lois Lane would have appreciated more if she wasn't being held at gunpoint.

 _I guess I should have listened to Perry,_ she thought, glancing at the two soldiers on either side of her. Her editor had pleaded with her to leave Markovia as fighting between the rebels and the government intensified in the northern part of the capital. But she had to check out the rumors of the mass graves in outside Markovburg. And it paid off. With the help of some rebels and their supporters, they uncovered two hundred bodies. Their bloated forms, covered with dirt and bullet holes, still made her stomach lurch. But she got the story out, and the world knew about the slaughter committed by the government.

A shiver went up and down her body. She wondered if that story would cost her her life.

The arched, wooden door in front of her opened. Four Markovian soldiers, clad in slate gray fatigues, marched into the courtyard. In the center of the group was a burly man with a craggy face and brown hair that fell to his shoulders. His face seemed frozen in a permanent scowl.

Lois stiffened her jaw, trying not to show any fear, as Baron Bedlam approached.

Her gaze fell to the rifles carried by the dictator's bodyguards. Her throat clenched and her legs trembled. Would they just shoot her right here?

Bedlam stomped to a halt inches from her. Lois drew a deep breath, making sure to stare him in the eye.

Bedlam's hand flashed out. Pain exploded across Lois's face. She stumbled, fighting to remain on her feet. She succeeded, rubbing her stinging cheek.

"Do you really think your story will change anything?" he asked in a deep menacing voice, his accent thick. "Do you expect America or NATO or the UN to come here? Do you think any of them care what happens here?"

"They do now," Lois replied.

Bedlam responded with a grunting laugh. "Perhaps. But I know democracies. Your leaders will talk and express outrage and say on TV they will not rest until I am out of power. They will say this for months, years, and never act. I will remain in power."

"From what I've seen from the rebels, I doubt it."

"They are scum. My forces will defeat them. However, you will not be here to see that, Miss Lane."

Her insides went cold. "Y-You're going to kill me?"

"Kill you?" Bedlam laughed. "That would be too quick, and not profitable to me."

Lois furrowed her brow, confused.

"A famous American reporter, I should be able to fetch six figures for you sex slave."

Lois froze, her stomach burning. She clenched her teeth to keep from throwing up at the thought of strange men forcing her to . . .

Her cheeks puffed out. Oh God, she was going to be sick.

Smiling, Bedlam jerked his head. Two of his soldiers grabbed Lois's arms.

"No." She pulled against their grip, struggling to break free. "No!"

Her boots scuffed the brick courtyard as they dragged her away.

A deep _boom_ rumbled through the air. Lois gasped, her fear dissolving.

"No." Baron Bedlam stared at the sky, eyes wide, fear blazing across his face.

Lois followed the dictator's gaze. She smiled when she saw the dark blue suit and red cape.

Superman landed in the courtyard, the bricks cratering under his feet. Two soldiers fired their rifles. Superman just stood there, not flinching as bullets pounded his torso. Red beams shot from his eyes. The rifles glowed. Both soldiers yelped and threw them away.

In a blue flash, Superman was in front of the soldiers. He grabbed both by their collars and flung them over his shoulder. They tumbled across the courtyard and lay on the ground, moaning.

Someone grabbed Lois's hair. She gasped as they yanked her backwards. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Bedlam, her hair in one hand, a pistol in the other.

Superman batted away the other soldiers and focused on Baron Bedlam. Lois's heart slammed against her chest as the dictator pulled her against him. The barrel of the gun brushed against her hair.

"Not another step," warned Bedlam. "I don't think you are fast enough to -"

A sharp wind whipped around Lois. Superman stood in front of her, clutching Bedlam's gunhand, now pointed to the sky.

"Actually, I am fast enough to . . ."

Lois slid away from Bedlam. The dictator took quick, fearful breaths.

Superman slightly flexed his hand. Bedlam screamed, the pistol falling from his grip. He spun away, grasping his wrist. "You broke my hand!"

"After everything you've done, you deserve a lot more than that." Superman grasped Bedlam's shoulder and whirled him around. He gripped the Markovian by the collar.

"Don't kill me." Bedlam's voice cracked. "Please don't kill me."

Superman's eyes narrowed. His lips formed a tight line. Lois's eyes flickered between him and Bedlam. Dread slithered through her. Would he do it? Part of her felt Baron Bedlam deserved it. How many of his own citizens had he murdered? It wouldn't be the first time Clark had killed. But it had been different with Zod. The crazed general was inches away from murdering an innocent family. Here, it would be cold-blooded murder.

Could he . . .

Would he . . .

"Whatever happens to you, won't be up to me," said Superman. "It'll be up to the International Criminal Court." He turned to Lois. "You all right?"

"Yeah." She hurried over to him.

He gave her a brief smile before wrapping an arm around her. "Better hold on. Next stop, the Hague."

Lois put her arms around him, leaning into Superman's shoulder. She closed her eyes and sighed, feeling safe. Safe and satisfied. With her story and Clark's powers, they had brought the bloody reign of a madman to an end.

 **XXXXX**

Alexander "Lex" Luthor shifted in his leather swivel chair, crossing and uncrossing his feet under the desk. He didn't like what he watched on his laptop, didn't like it one bit.

CNN showed footage of Superman flying away from Castle DeLamb in Markovia, with the small European nation's leader in hand.

 _Just swooped in, grabbed him, and carted him off to the Hague. No way to stop him._

He steepled his fingers under his chins, breaths coming quickly. Baron Bedlam wasn't some common street thug, or an uncommon one like those in Gotham City or Central City. The man was a world leader. And Superman removed him from power as easily as his servants removed lint from his suits.

He exited the site and brought up one of his secure files. He gazed at the news stories he'd saved over the past few years.

 **MYSTERIOUS QUESTION EXPOSES GOVERNOR'S CRIMINAL PAST**

 **ATOM STOPS PANTHER GANG'S CRIME SPREE**

 **GOTHAM BAT BRINGS DOWN CORRUPT CEO DAGGETT**

Again, Luthor shifted in his chair. These costumed freaks were growing in number, their exploits becoming bolder. His gaze lingered on the story about Roland Daggett. He'd been one of the most powerful men in Gotham, controlling Daggett Industries. Now he sat in a cell in Blackgate Penitentiary.

What would happen if Batman set his sights on him? Well, that was one reason he hired only the best for his security detail. Former Green Berets, British SAS, Russian Federal Security Service, German GSG9. Despite his legendary status, the Batman was only a man. He couldn't survive a hail of bullets.

Superman, however, could probably survive a small nuke.

He snatched his cell phone and called his assistant Mercy Graves. "Set up meetings with Senators Finch and Barrows, separately as usual."

"Is this about Zod's body and the Kryptonian ship again?"

"Of course."

"And those green rocks at the CDC?"

"Again, of course."

"And do you think you'll be able to change their minds this time?" Mercy asked in her usual cool voice.

"I wouldn't ask you to schedule the meetings if I didn't think so, so schedule them."

"Yes, Mister Luthor."

He tossed the phone onto his desk and slumped in his chair. The green rocks. He'd learned from an inside source that the tiny fragments had harmful effects on the cells extracted from General Zod's frozen body. They could be the key to neutralizing Superman. Unfortunately, he needed a lot more of this Kryptonite, as he liked to call it, to turn it into an effective weapon.

As for Zod's body, well, even an alien as dead as William Shakespeare could still be useful.

He found it hard to concentrate on business throughout the day. Superman flying away with Baron Bedlam dominated his mind. During meetings with the managers of his R&D division and the executives of his European office, he had to constantly ask them to repeat questions or statements. He'd even zoned out during lunch with his main Washington lobbyist.

 _Oh shit. What about all the tech I sold to Markovia?_ LexCorp had sold networking software to the country, before and after the U.S. embargo. Many of those programs had been used to crackdown on political dissidents. Would that prompt Superman to come after him?

 _So what if it comes out? I just say that some third party stole it and sold it to the Markovians._

Luthor swallowed. That might work with the U.S. legal system, not with a damn alien who snatched people out of their homes because he could.

He flopped into the back of his limo, not saying a word as Mercy drove him back to LexCorp Tower. His cell rang. Luthor waited three rings before answering it, not bothering to check the caller ID. "What?"

"Mister Luthor, it is Anatoli."

He straightened in his seat. "Anatoli, I am having a real shitty day, so you better have good news."

"I do. My men found a fragment. A large one. Nine kilos at least."

Luthor sighed. "I'm American. I don't speak metric."

Now Anatoli sighed. "My apologies." His tone indicated he was not truly sorry. "Twenty pounds."

For the first time today, Lex Luthor smiled.

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	3. Chapter 3

Clark Kent sat on the sofa, arms folded, legs stretched out. He stared at the TV, watching FOX News' coverage of the situation in Markovia.

"The fractures are widening among the rebel coalition that has been running the government since Superman ousted Baron Bedlam. Some leaders from rural areas are protesting what they believe is an attempt by rebels from urban areas to consolidate power among themselves. Skirmishes have broken out among some coalition members. The worst violence occurred yesterday when two groups exchanged gunfire at an outdoor market. At least fifteen civilians were killed, and another forty-six wounded in the crossfire."

Clark leaned back and closed his eyes, shoulders slumping. Two weeks ago he felt proud for bringing a tyrant to justice. He thought he'd ended a bloody civil war. Now it seemed another, even worse one, was brewing.

 _Now what?_ Did he go back to Markovia? What side did he choose? It was so easy when it was just Baron Bedlam and the rebels. Now it was rebel vs. rebel vs. rebel vs. . . . oh God, how many different rebel camps did they have? They'd joined forces to defeat a common foe. Why couldn't they come together for the common good of their country?

 _How did doing the right thing become so complicated?_

The scene cut from the female reporter in Markovia to a gray-haired man with a thin face sitting in an office.

"Superman thought removing someone like Baron Bedlam from power was good," said Goncalo Alves, President of the European Commission. "What he did not think of was the fallout from his actions, and the lives it has cost."

Clark gritted his teeth. He thought back to his childhood, his desire to use his powers to help people. How frustrated he'd been that his father wanted him to keep those powers a secret, that the world was not ready for someone like him.

Maybe he was right.

A sigh from across the living room prompted him to open his eyes. A rush of heat shot through him as Lois stood in the little hallway, clad in just a white robe, her strawberry blond hair still damp from her shower.

Could she be any more beautiful?

Lois stared at the TV, then at him, her lip curled. "Are you going to keep torturing yourself like this?"

Clark didn't answer, just looked down at the carpeted floor.

"There should be a Monarchs game on." Lois padded over to the coffee table and picked up the remote.

"Changing the channel won't change reality."

Lois let the remote drop to her side. She sat next to him, resting a hand on his knee. "Clark, you did good."

"Then why are people still dying in Markovia?"

"People would be dying there if you hadn't stopped Baron Bedlam, probably a lot more than are dying now."

Clark shook his head, putting his hand over Lois's. "I keep going over what happened in my head, keep wondering what I should have done differently. Maybe if I'd met with the rebels, I could have helped them form a more united government."

"You can second guess yourself until you go crazy. As powerful as you are, you can't predict the future. Do you think the people who negotiated the Treaty of Versailles after World War One thought all the mandates and restrictions they put on Germany would sew the seeds for the Second World War? Do you think the generals and politicians who supported the Afghan rebels during the Soviet occupation imagined some of those same rebels would one day turn on them?"

Clark exhaled slowly. Lois was right. How could he have predicted the unrest that followed Baron Bedlam's ouster?

Not that that would be of comfort to those who had already died.

He glanced at the TV. A thin woman with shoulder-length brown-hair was being interviewed. U.S. Senator June Finch from Kentucky.

"We can't have a citizen . . . scratch that, he's not even a citizen. We can't have an alien who suddenly decided to make this country, this world, his home, acting unilaterally. Yes, Baron Bedlam was a dictator, a hideous murderer of thousands. The world is better off without him. But what good does it do to rid a country of a dictator and not have some sort of stable leadership to take his place? These are concerns you can bet I will bring up at my Senate hearings on Superman."

Finch looked directly into the camera. Part of Clark thought the senator stared right at him.

"And if Superman is listening, I want you at these hearings so you can answer for your actions."

"Maybe I should do it," said Clark.

"No." Lois shook her head emphatically. "No, no, no. You do not want to put yourself in the crosshairs of a Senate committee."

"Why not? Maybe it's time to explain my side. Let people know I'm only trying to help, and . . . and that I'm sorry for the consequences."

"None of that will matter to them. I've covered my share of hearings on Capitol Hill. You know what I learned? It's nothing more than a chance for politicians to grandstand. To act tough and concerned before the voters and look like they're going solve a problem, but they never do a damn thing. It's all about getting name recognition and angling for a leadership position in Congress or a run at the White House."

Lois slid closer to him. "They don't give a damn about your side of the story. They'll do everything they can to paint you as a villain. They'll use you as a way to gain more power. Don't give them the satisfaction." She pointed to the window. "There are plenty of people out there who do view you as the hero you really are. If saving Metropolis from General Zod or stopping Baron Bedlam from slaughtering more Markovians isn't enough to convince others you're here to do good, that's their problem, not yours."

Clark sat up straighter, his insides buoyed by Lois's words. "Thanks, Lois. It's nice to be with someone with all your experience."

She drew her head back and cranked an eyebrow. "Is that your polite way of saying I'm old?"

"I did not say you're old. I meant that, well, in the life department, you have . . . well, um, a certain advantage over me." Clark couldn't contain a chuckle. He did like to needle Lois over their eight-year age difference.

She grabbed a pillow off the sofa and whacked him with it.

"Hey." He tickled her sides. Lois laughed as Clark lowered her onto her back. His heart thumped as he stared at her lovely, smiling face, then ran a finger down her cheek.

They kissed. Clark forgot all the ills of the world.

At least for a while.

 **XXXXX**

Bruce Wayne sat on the sofa, arms folded, legs stretched out. He stared at the TV, watching FOX News' coverage of the situation in Markovia. The glow from the screen and the slivers of fading sunlight through the shade provided the only illumination to the living room.

"This is the result when a being like Superman takes non-sanctioned action in an international crisis," said Secretary of State Paul Osuna. "He does not consider the long-term consequences. He does not see how removing a leader, even one as horrible as Baron Bedlam, can make the situation worse."

Bruce's face tightened, the old, familiar anger boiling. The battle in Metropolis again spooled through his head. The shattered buildings, the shattered lives. The lost lives.

Lucius.

He wondered if Superman had considered the consequences of fighting another powerful alien in a major city. Probably not, given the amount of death and destruction they'd left in their wake.

"Your tea's gone cold." A clipped British accent came from behind him.

He turned to find Alfred staring down at him.

"Shall I get another cup for you to ignore?"

"Sorry, Alfred." Bruce looked back at the TV. "I got wrapped up in the news."

"Mm." The butler did not pick up the teacup from the end table. He folded his arms and gazed at the TV.

"For those who are cheering Baron Bedlam's ouster," Osuna continued, "consider this. What if the next world leader Superman goes after isn't a dictator? What if it's a democratically elected president or prime minister whose policies he disagrees with? What's to stop him?"

"He's right." Bruce nodded.

"And what evidence do you have for that?" countered Alfred.

Bruce sighed. Never in his life had he thought Alfred naive or foolish. So why could he not see the potential danger this alien posed?

"You saw what he did in Markovia." His gaze never left the television.

"I did. He rid the world of a madman."

Now Bruce did turn around. "And what if what the Secretary of State says comes true? What if he starts ridding the world of all its leader, dictators and non-dictators alike?"

Lines of disapproval formed around Alfred's jaw. "You've always been paranoid, which does come in handy in your nighttime occupation. But in regards to Superman, you are taking it to an unreasonable level."

"It's not unreasonable. Not after what happened in Metropolis."

Alfred's shoulders sagged. "I know how much Lucius meant to you, but you can't blame Superman for his death."

"Can't I?"

"He was the one who stopped Zod. He saved millions."

"At the cost of thousands. Including Lucius, including 258 of my employees, including 612 other people in the WayneTech Tower." Bruce stood and spun to face Alfred. "Where the hell was he to help rebuild Metropolis? Where the hell was he to comfort all the grieving families, to look them in the eye and apologize? And where the hell is he when Markovia is falling apart?"

"What about all he's done since that day?" Alfred's voice took on a sharper tone. "The people he's saved from natural disasters, sinking ships, burning buildings, crime. Does that not mean anything?"

"We've both seen people start off with the noblest of intentions, only to be corrupted by power. And when you have absolute power like Superman . . ." Bruce's jaw stiffened for a moment, "Well, you know how that saying goes. When you have absolute power, and you think the people in government aren't doing what you want them to, what's to stop you from threatening them, or just taking their place?"

Alfred locked his gaze on Bruce. "Shall I remind you of Mayor Hady, or the many city council members you 'removed' from office?"

"That was different." Bruce pointed an emphatic finger at him. "Hady was in the pocket of the mob. All the council members I took down were also working for the mob or involved in drugs, prostitution, extortion, even child porn." He shivered when he remembered that case. How he kept from strangling that maggot to death was beyond him.

He continued. "I think the current president is a weak, pandering, divisive egomaniac, but I'm not about to storm the White House and kick out the son-of-a-bitch. Even if I did, there'd be an army of federal agents, soldiers, and Marines coming after me. I couldn't beat those odds. Superman could."

"True . . . if he had any intention of doing so. And from I have seen on the news, he doesn't."

Teacup in hand, Alfred strode out of the living room.

Bruce turned back to the TV. A reporter was interviewing that celebrity scientist, Neil deGrasse Tyson, about Superman's powers, and if they could be countered.

"Outside of a nuclear weapon, I can't see any other weapon on Earth that could affect Superman."

Bruce's eyebrows knitted together. He'd rather have another option to take out Superman that didn't involve destroying an entire city.

 _Which makes me different from him._

He lowered his head, staring at the floor through half-closed eyes. He had studied Superman and his powers, tried to think of ways to counter them. He couldn't.

 _There has to be a way. Everyone has a weakness._

He dropped back on the couch, wondering if he was engaging in a fool's errand. He fought street criminals and costumed crazies, not god-like aliens. Besides, the government had to know what sort of threat Superman posed. They'd be working on some top secret project to neutralize him. He should just leave it to them.

 _And what if they fail?_ Then someone else would have to protect the world from that alien.

That someone might be a man who dressed in a bat suit.

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	4. Chapter 4

They were the typical street level security. Big, burly, and overconfident.

From his rooftop perch, Batman observed the two men below. They chatted in loud voices, stopping to take puffs from cigarettes or down an energy drink. Neither man seemed to think anyone would dare confront them.

Batman shook his head. For over twenty years he'd been leaving beaten down scumbags for the police to haul off to jail. You'd think that would make even the dumbest thug a bit more alert.

Did they no longer fear him?

Another hour passed. No one had come to relieve the "guards." They kept pounding energy drinks. It made them fidget and talk louder. They probably kept everyone on this block awake. Not that it mattered. The residents in this part of the East End knew better than to tell people like these to shut up.

 _Time to take them down._ Batman put away his binoculars and reached for his grapple gun. Out the corner of his eye, he caught the lights of Metropolis across the river. He froze, wondering if the alien was out tonight pretending to be the savior of the world . . . or planning to take it over.

He closed his eyes and shook off the thought. Whatever potential threat Superman posed, he couldn't do anything about it. What was going on in the apartment building across from him he could do something about.

Batman fired the grapple hook over the street. It caught on the building's rampart. Drawing a deep breath, he leapt over the edge and swung toward the ground.

The guards were laughing at something and never saw him. Batman's boots slammed into the two. The jarring impact rattled his legs. He ignored it and landed on his feet. The guards groaned, one trying to push himself up. Batman kicked him in the face. The man flipped over onto his back, barely conscious.

"Shit." The other guard started to sit up, reaching into his jacket.

Batman's leg whipped in an arc. His heel smashed into the guard's jaw. He rolled onto his stomach, unconscious.

Stepping to the side of the door, Batman pushed it open and pressed his back against the wall. No bullets came flying out. He peeked inside. A pair of light bulbs illuminated the hallway. He stepped inside, then paused, concentrating on his surroundings.

Footsteps came from around the corner, getting closer.

Batman charged across the wooden floor. He reached the intersection just as another guard appeared. The man turned, mouth agape, an Uzi dangling from his shoulder. Batman grabbed his arm and threw him over his shoulder. The guard crashed against the wall and crumpled to the floor. Batman kicked away the stubby submachine gun and punched him in the face for good measure. The man lay with his eyes half-closed, a small moan escaping his mouth.

Batman charged down the next hallway, eyes flickering, scanning for threats.

 _They have to be keeping them in the basement._

He stopped at another intersection and glanced around the corner. A tall black man stood by the cellar door, a Sig-Sauer pistol in one hand, a walkie-talkie in the other.

"Butcher . . . Bashman? Where the hell are you guys . . . I'm hearing shit in here. What the hell's -"

Batman stepped into the open and flung a bat-o-rang. It struck the guard in the face. He toppled to the floor.

Batman rushed over, kicking away the gun. Blood poured down the guard's nose and cheek, but he remained alive.

He checked the door. It was padlocked. He pulled out a small aerosol can of liquid nitrogen and sprayed it. After a few seconds, he brought down his fist. The frozen padlock shattered.

He pushed the door halfway open and chucked in a few smoke bombs. They exploded with sharp pops. Women screamed and coughed.

So did a man.

Batman sprinted down the stairs. The cloud of smoke obscured the guard. He tuned out the high-pitched feminine shrieks, concentrating instead on the male coughing. Just ahead. It sounded below his chest. The man was doubled over.

Batman made out a human silhouette just before he collided with it. Shoes scuffed on the wood floor. The guard had stumbled back. Batman's foot shot out in a sidekick. He hit something hard and fleshy. The guard fell to the floor.

The smoke dissipated. The downed guard groaned and tried to rise. Batman kicked him in the face.

Women whimpered next to him. Batman turned. Over a dozen women in the cell jumped away from the bars. Some stared at him with tears in their eyes, shivering. Others covered their faces.

"It's okay. You're going to be all right."

The women still cried.

Batman studied them. They all had tan skin. Asians, with a few Middle Easterners thrown in. Probably from countries ruled by dictators or torn apart by war. He figured they'd paid a large sum to the human traffickers to get them to what they believed were safety and freedom. Instead, they had traded one nightmare for another.

A sick, burning sensation pierced his stomach as he noted the cuts and bruises on their faces. Some even had cigarette burns on their arms or legs.

His gaze rested on a skinny girl sitting in the corner, hugging her knees against her chest. She rocked slightly back and forth, eyes staring ahead at nothing. Bruises and burns marred her arms and legs. The poor girl couldn't be older than thirteen.

Batman's throat clenched. Tears stung the corner of his eyes. Disgust and anger engulfed his sorrow for these women. He'd seen depravity that would drive some people mad in his time. He didn't think anything could surprise him. But this? This cruelty. This inhumanity. Even the Joker wasn't this depraved.

 _And they're doing this in my city._ Did these maggots think he was a myth? Did they not fear what would happen if he discovered their human trafficking operation?

He spun around and grabbed the fallen guard by the collar. He yanked the man off the ground and slammed him against the wall.

"Where's your boss?"

The guard just stared at him, swallowing.

Batman slammed him against the wall again. "I said where's you boss? Don't make me ask again."

"He's upstairs, man. Third floor, Room 306. Okay? Please, just -"

With a roar, Batman flung him into the bars. The guard's head cracked off the steel. He dropped to the floor.

Batman hurried up the stairs, taking one look back at the prisoners. He'd call the police and let them help these poor women, as soon as he took care of the boss.

He bounded the stairs two at a time. He reached the third floor and dashed into a hallway.

A skinny man stood in front of him. He stumbled backwards in surprise, then smiled, showing off dark yellow teeth. "Aw, yeah, the friggin' bat."

He drew a machete, raised it over his head and charged.

Batman ducked the swipe. He punched the skinny guard in the stomach. The man doubled over, dropping the blade. Batman rammed his knee into the guard's face. He then grabbed the back of the man's head and slammed him face into the floor. He jumped over him and scanned the doors until he came to 306. A kick sent it flying open. Batman spun away from the doorway. No gunfire. He glanced inside.

The room was empty.

 _No!_ He rushed inside, focusing on the open window. He checked outside. A squat, balding man climbed down the fire escape, the streetlights glinting off his gold chains.

 _You are not getting away, you piece of filth._ Batman leaned out the window and fired his grapple gun toward the roof. He tugged to make sure it was secure, then jumped out. He rappelled past the fire escape. The boss looked up, gasped, and raised a Glock pistol. Batman tensed.

The gun cracked twice. One round zipped through Batman's cape. The second punched him in the side. He gritted against the hammering pain and swung toward the boss. His feet slammed into the other man's chest. He flew into the window. Glass exploded around him.

Batman followed him through the opening. He landed on his feet, glancing down at his left side. No blood. The Kevlar held. It still hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Not like pain was anything new to him.

The boss lay on the floor, face and hands bleeding from the glass wounds. Eyes narrowed, Batman stalked toward him, then stopped, noticing something out the corner of his eye. He turned . . . and his stomach clenched in a burning knot.

A bed was pushed against the far wall, with a camera in front of it.

Tremors of rage wracked his body. He thought of the little crying girl in the cell. Had she been on that bed? Had they . . .

Growling, he stomped over to the boss and yanked him off the floor.

"No, don-"

Batman threw him into the wall. Wooden boards caved in. The boss dropped to the floor.

"Sick bastard!" Batman kicked him three times.

"Please," the boss pleaded in a wheezing voice. "Don't kill me."

"Why not?" Batman felt the hatred, the urge, pulsing through his fingers. His gaze bore in on the boss's throat. He could snap his neck, or better yet, choke him, extend the agony.

 _Don't. You're better than that._ The voice echoed in his head, the one that always came when he felt on the verge of crossing that line. It made him think of his mother and father. Would they want their son to be a killer? Would they be proud of him if he took a life, even one as sick as this scum's?

"I . . . I can help you," the boss croaked.

"Why would I want your help?"

"I . . . I got names. Clients. People who like . . . you know." He nodded to the bed and the camera. "Big names. You let me live, I'll give them to you."

Batman nodded.

The boss pulled out his phone. Batman stood over him as he tapped on the screen, making sure the slime didn't send some sort of SOS to any of his friends.

"Here." He held up the phone.

Batman snatched it out of his hand. He slid his finger down the screen, scanning the names. He took a shaky, enraged breath. The boss wasn't kidding when he said these were big names. They included two bankers, a real estate mogul, the president of a local environmental group, the dean of students at Gotham University, and the city manager.

All these men, enjoying these vile acts . . . thinking they could get away with it.

 _I'm going to have a busy night._

"So . . . we're good, right?" asked the boss.

Batman glared down him. "No, we are not good." He took out a bat blade from his utility belt.

"Wha . . . What are you doing, man?"

Batman didn't answer. He simply removed a laser torch and ran it over the metal blade. He may not be able to kill this cockroach, but he could teach him a lesson. Teach every vermin in this city a lesson.

That they needed to fear the Batman.

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	5. Chapter 5

"You really think you'll be able to convince Perry to send you to Washington?" Clark asked Lois as they sat on the bench of the subway car.

"Of course I will. How can he not have someone from the _Planet_ at Senator Finch's hearing? Superman's home base is Metropolis, we're Metropolis's newspaper. We need a local reporter there."

"He's going to say it'll be cheaper to get it off the AP." Clark took a swig of his iced coffee. Cool and refreshing. He'd always thought the concept of iced coffee ridiculous until Lois convinced him to try it.

Lois scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. "Relying on the wire service is lazy reporting. Perry needs to have someone down there who's familiar with Superman if he wants a good story." She leaned against him and whispered in his ear. "And who's more familiar with Superman than me?"

Clark grinned and sipped his iced coffee, glancing at the people packed into the car. Many had their eyes glued to their phones. Some ate breakfast out of a bag, and a handful read newspapers or books. While many viewed the subway as just part of their daily routine, to him it was a reaffirmation. The people he vowed to protect were not nameless, faceless strangers. They were real. The people he rode the subway with had families, hopes, dreams. Some had their whole lives ahead of them, others were ready to enjoy their golden years. They deserved to live in peace, without fear. They were the reason he put on the blue suit.

 _And how many people like these died when I fought Zod?_ Clark lowered his head, the memories of that day playing in his mind. Did any of the men and women in this car lose someone they cared about? Did they blame him?

He reviewed the fight in his mind for probably the thousandth time. He should have tried to keep Zod in space, or maybe fly him out to sea, take him somewhere away from people.

 _But I didn't, and it's not like I can turn back time and change everything._

All he could do was make sure if a similar situation happened, he did not endanger the civilian population.

He wished he could have learned that lesson some other way, one that didn't involve wrecking an entire city.

"Clark." Lois nudged him. "It's our stop."

He looked up at her, just now realizing the subway car had stopped.

They filed out with a dozen other people and climbed the steps to the street above. Warm air greeted them, along with a few dark clouds in the sky. A rainy May day seemed in the forecast.

Clark downed the rest of his iced coffee and chucked it into a garbage can as he and Lois entered the _Daily Planet_ building.

"Good luck getting Perry to stick a crowbar into the expense account," he said as they boarded the elevator.

"Ha. With Perry, it's more like the jaws of life."

They rode up to the newspaper's offices and got out.

"You free for lunch?" Lois asked.

"Sorry." Clark shook his head. "Perry's got me covering the opening of that new sustainable office building."

"Ooh, how exciting." Lois gave him a wry grin. "Well, you are the young cub reporter. These are kinds of stories you get . . . the kind the other reporters don't want."

"Well, one day Perry will give me meatier stuff."

"Don't just stand around waiting for it." Lois shook a finger at him. "You have to go out and find your own big stories. If I had sat on my ass waiting for an editor to hand me a big story, I'd probably still be working for that rinky-dink paper in New Hampshire."

"Duly noted."

Clark wished her good luck with her meeting with Perry White and walked through the large room with several rows of desks, many separated by dividers. He passed a pudgy, middle-aged man and a trim brunette. Gil Merritt and Kristen Oyler, two of the _Planet's_ crime reporters. Both stared intently at the laptop on Merritt's desk.

"Damn, he's finally gone off the deep end," said Kristen.

"Who's gone off the deep end?" asked Clark.

Kristen turned to him. "Oh. Morning, Clark. The Bat. You hear about this?"

"No. What did he do?"

"See for yourself." Merritt pointed to the screen.

Clark stared over the man's shoulder. His eyes widened behind his glasses. "My God."

Six photos filled the screen. Each one showed a man stripped down to their underwear. All had a mark burned into the chests and their cheeks. A bat-shaped mark.

"Why did the Bat do this?" Clark gazed unblinking at the images.

"Gotham PD said they found a crapload of kiddie porn in all their houses," Merritt told him. "Some of those tapes had them doin' the deed. Some kind of disgusting memento, I bet. Guess the Bat wanted to teach these guys one hell of a lesson."

"Who are they?" asked Clark.

"People high up on the Gotham food chain." Kristen folded her arms, still staring at the images. "City Manager Don Banks. Steve Closter, CEO of Gotham Central Bank. Ellis Tepedino, owner of TH Development Corporation. Usually guys like this are just in the pocket of the mob. But this . . ." She grimaced. "This is some sick shit."

Merritt barked out a humorless laugh. "I bet any other pedos out there will think twice after seeing these pictures."

Clark nodded, staring at the picture of Don Banks, staked out on his lawn. His focus was on the bat marks branded into the paunchy man's flesh. He had a hard time feeling any sympathy for people who hurt children. But as horrible as these slime were, he found torture repugnant. And there was no other word to describe what the Batman had done.

"I'm surprised the police released something like this," he said.

"It wasn't the police who took these photos." Merritt jerked a thumb at the computer. "It came to the _Gotham Gazette_ by an anonymous source. Probably Batman himself took them."

The reporter leaned his bulk back in his chair. "I was just starting out here when Batman first appeared. He's always been a rough guy, but this . . . I don't remember him being this violent. Maybe this kiddie porn finally pushed him over the edge."

"Bound to happen one day," said Kristen. "Twenty years of dealing with the worst of the worst in a place like Gotham, I'm surprised it took him this long to go nuts."

"The guy runs around dressed like a giant bat." Merritt looked up at her. "You ask me, he was nuts from the get-go."

"Fine. Then he's more nuts than before."

"I doubt the police will tolerate this," said Clark. "They'll be going after him."

Merritt let out a harsh, sardonic laugh. "Yeah right. The Gotham cops are usually hands off with Batman. Word is their commissioner is in cahoots with him. Trust me, Kent, the cops aren't gonna do shit about this guy."

A long breath flowed from Clark's nose. He looked at the images again. How could the police allow this kind of brutality to occur?

He walked over to his desk, still thinking about the photos. He rocked back and forth in his swivel chair, staring at his dark computer screen. Clark knew he should be doing research and preparing questions for his article on the sustainable building, but Batman weighed on his mind. Did the police commissioner secretly approve of this sort of vigilantism?

 _You're one to criticize vigilantes._ No, there was a big difference between him and Batman. He didn't inflict unnecessary pain on criminals. He certainly could, but just because he had the power to do so didn't mean he should. If anything, it meant he needed to use his powers responsibly, and not act cruelly. Isn't that what being a hero meant? Showing everyone they could defeat evil without descending to its level.

Judging by the photos, that concept seemed lost on Batman.

Clark turned on his computer and pulled up several articles about the so-called "Dark Knight," ranging from his first appearances to his most recent. The man had done a lot of good, bringing crime bosses, drug kingpins, corrupt officials, and the strange costumed rogues like Penguin, Scarecrow, Riddler, and the Joker to justice. Many stories cited the injuries inflicted on the criminals caught by Batman. In his early days, they mainly consisted of bruises, busted noses, and concussions. Later stories described criminals with more serious injuries. Broken arms and legs, lacerations, even a couple of skull fractures.

The culmination was branding the city manager and the others last night.

Batman had not outright killed anyone, but there was an escalation in his level of violence.

Next he found an article in the magazine _Gotham Weekly_ speculating on Batman's psyche. The reporter interviewed "noted Gotham psychiatrist" Hugo Strange, who offered this observation.

" _There is no doubt the Batman suffered some sort of trauma. Perhaps it was the loss of a loved one, or he may have been the victim of a crime, which left him with an insatiable need for revenge. As to why he chose a bat motif for his crime-fighting personality, I believe the Batman is someone who has an obsession with the occult. Bats are an animal that have been associated with the supernatural for centuries. Given his tendency to operate at night, his skill at making stealthy approaches and departures, it is possible Batman believes himself to be a supernatural being."_

"That's a troubling thought," Clark muttered to himself. Not only did Batman embrace violence, he might also be mentally unhinged.

He checked out various social media sites, wanting to see what regular folks thought of the Bat's rampage last night. Most of what he read disappointed him.

 _Yea for Bats! Give those sickos what they deserve._

 _Corrupt judges will probably set these slimewads free. At least Batman gave them an appropriate punishment._

 _Good for Batman. He can take out these SOBs w/o blowing up a city to do it._

A stab of guilt went through Clark. He noticed there were ten replies to that Tweet that defended Superman's actions against Zod. Not that the praise made him feel better.

Clark folded his arms on top of the desk, thinking about the public's approval of Batman's actions, and how the police were likely to turn a blind eye. Would they still feel the same way if he took the ultimate step and killed someone? Killed them not because lives were at immediate risk, but because he felt they deserved it. He'd gone from giving criminals a few bruises to scorching their bodies. Could he be that far away from taking a life?

 _I could fly over there and stop him._ But that wouldn't stop the public's support of Batman. The police might even be willing to let him escape. Even if he did go to jail, he might inspire others to take his place. Clark had a bad feeling many of those copycats would be more prone to kill than the original.

If he wanted to stop the Batman, he had to discredit him.

 _Well, Lois did say to go out and make your own big story._

What he had in mind wouldn't require the power of Superman. It required the power of the press.

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	6. Chapter 6

Arms folded, Bruce Wayne stared at the dark wall in front of him. Thousands of names in silver letters stretched across it. He focused on one in particular, Panel 3A, third row. Lucius Fox.

His throat tightened, as it did every time he came to the Metropolis Memorial. Memories flashed through his mind, all of Lucius's advice, his suggestions.

"The extra armor will reduce your speed by five miles-per-hour, but considering what you put the Batmobile through, it's an acceptable tradeoff."

"I told you you need thicker boots to protect yourself from puncture wounds. Maybe now you'll listen to me."

"I know this is horrible. Losing Jason has to feel like losing a son. But shutting yourself off from the world is not the answer. There are people out there still counting on you. You have to find a way to pick up the pieces and keep going."

Bruce turned away from the wall and stared at the large Superman statue in the middle of the memorial. A slow, harsh breath escaped his nostrils. His right fist clenched. _Damn Kryptonians._ They had killed Lucius. Another person he cared about, dead.

 _And they built a statue to honor the SOB responsible._

"Well, well, well. Bruce Wayne."

He grimaced at the familiar, nasally voice. A lanky, red-haired man in his late twenties strode toward him.

"Lex," Bruce muttered.

Luthor stopped a few feet away. "I thought that was your car parked over there." He nodded his head toward the street. "Thought I'd come by and say, 'hi.'"

"Hi." Bruce didn't take his eyes off Luthor. His father had been a snake, and his experience dealing with the younger Luthor showed him the proverbial apple didn't fall far from the tree.

Luthor spun to face the wall, his head moving back and forth. "Mm, I come here sometimes. I lost quite a few employees, too. Such a shame."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. Luthor's tone sounded more casual than sorrowful. His head was level, not lowered. His eyes were wide open, not half-closed.

 _Could he be any worse at faking sympathy?_

"I always wonder every time I come here." Luthor clasped his hands behind his back.

"About what?"

"What if it happens again? What if Superman fights some other powerful menace? What if he wrecks Metropolis again? Kills thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands? Or what if he does the same in other places? Washington? Los Angeles? Central City . . . Gotham City?"

Bruce's gaze shifted in the direction of Gotham. His insides tightened at the thought of his city laid to waste by the alien with the big red S.

"What would we do?" Luthor continued. "How do you fight that kind of power?"

"Everyone has a weakness," said Bruce.

"Do you know Superman's weakness?"

Bruce looked at Luthor, eyebrows knitted together. "No."

"Seriously?" Luthor's face scrunched in a doubtful look. "All those employees of yours dead, millions in property damage for your company, all the resources at your disposal, and you haven't come up with a single theory?"

 _It's not for lack of trying._ Bruce's eyes narrowed, studying Luthor's smiling face. Why was he asking these questions? If he really was working on some project to defeat Superman, no way in hell would he tell a slimewad like Lex Luthor.

"I can't think of any resources I have to defeat someone whose powers rival a god's."

"Uh-huh." Luthor stared at him for several seconds, like he was trying to determine if Bruce was lying or not.

Luthor turned back to the wall. "It's a dangerous world out there, Bruce. Not just with Superman. There are people who can shrink themselves, scream loud enough to blow out your eardrums, shoot fire out their hands, or run around pretending they're Robin Hood. Or what about Gotham City? How many nuts in strange costumes do you have to put up with there?"

Bruce glared at him. _Don't remind me._

"You have to protect your assets," said Luthor.

"Security at all Wayne Enterprises facilities is top notch."

"Yes." Luthor drew out the word. "Maybe against someone like the Penguin or Catwoman. Against Superman, however, you could be sitting in a bunker deep inside a mountain, and it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference."

He pulled out his phone. "Oh. Look at the time. Sorry, I got a thing. "Good talking to you, Bruce."

Luthor gave him a two-fingered salute, turned on his heel, and walked off. He then stopped and spun back to Bruce. "Oh, by the way. Friday night, I'm throwing a gala fundraiser for the Metropolis Library. You're invited. See you there."

With that, Luthor left the memorial park.

Bruce stared in his direction long after he vanished from sight, replaying the conversation in his head. Lex Luthor was not someone who just stopped to say "hi" to a business rival. The smug little bastard would only act friendly if he had an ulterior motive.

So what was it?

 **XXXXX**

Even after a full day of meetings with Wayne Technical officials, the strange conversation with Luthor still dominated Bruce's mind. He also thought about the invitation to his gala.

 _When the hell did he start giving a damn about libraries?_ Luthor probably didn't. To him, it would be more about image than encouraging people to read. It was also a good tax write-off.

He made up his mind to blow off Luthor's bullshit gala as he pulled into the spacious garage of Wayne Manor. When he walked into the living room, Alfred was there to greet him.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news," the old butler told him.

"What is it?"

"Wayne Technical was hacked."

Lines dug into Bruce's forehead. "Did they get anything important?"

"I don't know. The cyber security people are still investigating it."

Bruce let out a short, frustrated breath and stared at the wooden floor in thought. "We have some of the most secure firewalls in the world. Whoever did this has to be damn good."

He looked up at Alfred. "Probably someone who's just as highly regarded in the field of cyber security as Wayne Enterprises."

"It sounds like you already have a suspect in mind."

"I do. I stopped by the Metropolis Memorial today, and ran into Lex Luthor."

Alfred frowned. "You have my sympathies, sir."

The briefest of smiles traced Bruce's lips. "We had a pretty strange conversation. He talked about Superman, if we were engaged in any projects to try and counter his powers." He glanced to the side for a moment. "What if it was a fishing expedition? Maybe Luthor was hoping I would let something slip."

"Why? Alexander Luthor does not strike me as someone interested in forming a partnership with a rival company."

"Definitely not. Probably corporate espionage. Maybe he thought I was misleading him and decided to hack us. Steal information on our projects and duplicate them, saving him millions on research. That is, if Wayne Enterprises was engaged in such projects."

"And it is not, correct?" Alfred's face stiffened in a stern, questioning expression.

"No," Bruce answered flatly. "But it could mean Luthor is. Maybe his researchers are having no luck with it. Maybe he's trying to see if some other companies are having more success."

He strode past Alfred. "I'll be in the cave. I have some research of my own to do."

Alfred sighed. "I'll bring your supper down there." He started toward the kitchen, adding, "Please be sure you eat it and not ignore it."

 **XXXXX**

Bruce did eat his dinner while he worked. He was hungry, and Alfred did make an excellent salt-and-pepper chicken with rice pilaf.

He returned the favor to Luthor and hacked his computer network. By routing it through ten different proxy servers, even Lexcorps' cyber security specialists would find it impossible to trace it back to him.

The hack proved unsuccessful. Bruce could find nothing about any projects related to Superman. Next he hacked into Luthor's phone records. Lines of names appeared on the large HD screen in front of him.

"This is interesting." He leaned back in his swivel chair and scanned the names of four United States Senators, all of whom were on the Senate committee holding hearings on the Battle of Metropolis. He also saw calls to the Secretaries of Defense and Homeland Security, as well as the President's Scientific Advisor.

Could Luthor have some sort of anti-Superman project going on? Could he be lobbying the U.S. Government for his services? Given the destruction caused by Superman and Zod, he suspected the government would jump at any chance to gain technology to counter the Kryptonian. Such a contract would make Lex Luthor wealthier than he already was.

 _But how far along is he?_ Maybe he needed help from scientists not in Lexcorps' employ.

Bruce researched other names on the phone records. Luthor had called a couple of physicists, a doctor involved in DNA research, and a retired general who had headed up USAMRIID, the military's version of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

 _Is he looking into some biological weapon to defeat Superman?_ A tremor of worry shot through him. He imagined Luthor or some of his scientists screwing up big time and unleashing some plague upon the world.

He cross-referenced more names and occupations, then stopped when he noticed one line that read, "Unnamed Caller." Bruce checked the location of the call. It had come from a burner phone in Sri Lanka, not too far from where Superman had destroyed the terraforming platform nearly two years ago.

Next, he hacked into the National Security Agency databanks. For an agency that specialized in highly classified communications, its cyber security was laughably inadequate. Inputting the date, time, and location, he found a recording of the conversation.

" _Mister Luthor, it is Anatoli."_

" _Anatoli, I am having a real shitty day, so you better have good news."_

" _I do. My men found a fragment. A large one. Nine kilos at least."_

" _I'm American. I don't speak metric."_

" _My apologies. Twenty pounds."_

Neither Anatoli nor Luthor mentioned the exact nature of the fragment. Smart, especially in the age when any can listen in on even supposedly secured phone calls.

 _And who is this Anatoli?_

Bruce took the voiceprint and ran it through a variety of databases; INTERPOL, CIA, MI-6, Mossad, French DGSE, and Russia's FSB. It was the last agency where he found a match.

Anatoli Knyazev. Former Soviet airborne soldier who had served with the old KGB during that agency's last few years of existence. In that short amount of time, he had gained quite the reputation for wetwork – aka, assassination. He'd been so efficient, and brutal, the CIA nicknamed him "KGBeast."

After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Knyazev worked for the Russian mob before branching out on his own to become a successful weapons dealer.

 _So what did a former assassin find in the Indian Ocean that Lex Luthor would be interested in?_ It had to be something Luthor could not risk having hacked. That meant he would store this information on a hard drive not connected to the internet. The hard drive would not be at one of his businesses, with hundreds to thousands of people walking in and out of on a daily basis. No, he would keep it in the one place he felt it most secure. His home.

Bruce smiled. _And Lex invited me into his home._

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	7. Chapter 7

Metropolis had its bad parts. Clark had been to most of them, either as a reporter or as Superman. But the worst part of his city was nothing compared to this neighborhood in Gotham.

He swung his head left to right, taking in the old brick row houses and apartments. _Decay_ was the word that leapt to his mind. Dirt and graffiti covered many of the faded, chipped walls. A few buildings had their windows boarded up, though people sat on the porches smoking or shooting up.

He grimaced as the atmosphere of despair wrapped around him.

Drawing a breath, Clark entered one of the apartments. He gritted his teeth as he eyed the dank lobby. The tile was filthy and peeling. The air stank of mold and urine. A couple of cockroaches skittered along the wall. Sympathy welled up for the man he was supposed to meet. How could anyone live in conditions like this?

He took the creaky stairs to the second floor and walked down the hall until he came to the door mark 2-D. He knocked.

"What?" A gruff voice sounded from behind the door.

"Mister Brewer. It's Clark Kent from _The Daily Planet."_

A grunt, then the slow clomping of footsteps. Chains and bolts slid back, and the door opened. Standing before him was a tall, bearded dark-skinned man whose large paunch stretched out his t-shirt. He clutched a cane with his right hand. Clark's eyebrows knitted together. Mason Brewer couldn't be more than thirty. Not the age you'd think someone would need a cane to walk.

Clark showed him his credentials. Brewer eyed them for a moment, then jerked his head for him to enter.

"Thank you." Clark entered the small apartment, trying to keep his face neutral as he scanned his surroundings. The furniture was old and worn. Rays of sunlight illuminated clouds of floating dust. Empty beer cans and take out containers jammed the counter of the kitchenette.

Brewer hobbled to his chair, groaned and plopped down. Clark took a seat on the nearby sofa.

"Thank you for seeing me," he said.

"You want me to talk shit about the Bat? I got no problem doing that. Not after this." He patted his right leg.

"Batman did that to you?"

"Sure did."

"Do you mind if I record you?" Clark pulled out his digital tape recorder.

"Sure. Whatever." Brewer shrugged.

"So how did this happen?" Clark asked.

"Used to run with a gang called the Fifteen Blades, not too far from here." He pointed to the window.

"What did you do for them?"

"Usual. Sold drugs. Stole cars. Jacked up some stores. Yeah, I roughed up some folks, but never killed nobody."

Clark nodded. He sounded like the sort of person he'd hand off to the police if he was in his blue and red. But he needed information on the Batman's brutal history, and he wouldn't get it interviewing girl scouts and church choir members.

"So how did you cross paths with Batman?"

Brewer let out a slow breath. "We were dealing at Henshaw Park. Black Hammer, he was our leader, he had me on lookout. I went behind a building to take a leak, next thing I know there was screamin', shootin'. I poke my head out and there he was, the friggin' Bat. Kickin' everyone's ass. Then he looks up, looks me right in the eye."

He grimaced before continuing. "I had my piece, but lots of guys took shots at the Batman, never killed him. So I just booked it. Ran right into the street and got hit by a car. That's why I got this." He held up his cane.

"What did Batman do after you got hit?" asked Clark.

"Nothin'. I mean, he walked over to me, looked me over. I was scared, man. Thought he was gonna kill me."

"Then what?"

"He just left."

"He didn't give you first aid? Call an ambulance?"

Brewer barked out a humorless laugh. "The Batman? Call an ambulance? You think that crazy-ass cracker gives a damn about folks like me? He puts us in jail, or the hospital, or both. I did eighteen months in county lockup, and most of that time I was rehabbing, for all the good it did."

Anger spread through Clark's insides. Okay, Mason Brewer was not a pillar of society, but he did deserve medical help after being hit by a damn car.

"What did you do when you got out of jail?" he asked.

"Nothing. Just been sitting on my ass living off disability. Who's gonna wanna hire a gimp? Sure as hell couldn't go back to the Fifteen Blades. Can't be a badass when you're using a cane."

Clark just nodded. Batman may not have physically assaulted Brewer, but he had to be held accountable for his injuries. Not helping this poor guy after being run over showed a lack of compassion.

 _Even in war, our Army gives medical treatment to enemy soldiers._

His gaze dropped to the faded, dusty carpet in thought. He and Brewer had to be around the same age, but Brewer appeared to have given up on life.

 _Maybe if I got him some help, a social worker or something, he could turn his life around._

Sometimes however, people like Brewer did not want to be helped.

 _That doesn't mean I can't try._ Clark resolved to call some social services or community organizations to see if they could send someone to see Brewer.

When the interview ended, Clark shook his hands and walked to the door.

"Hey, Mister Reporter," said Brewer.

"Yes?"

"You think this story of yours about Batman makin' me a cripple is gonna make a damn bit of difference?"

"I certainly hope so."

 **XXXXX**

Clark continued his journey through the dark underbelly of Gotham City. It was a damn big underbelly. He talked to several people who either knew someone injured by Batman, or were injured themselves. A former mob enforcer was left blind in one eye from the so-called "Dark Knight" slamming his face into a brick wall, shattering his orbital bone. A teenage girl told him about the nightmares she had from the night Batman broke into her home and beat up her father, a loan shark. Then there was the prostitute who was collateral damage during a Bat attack.

"That smoke bomb went off, couldn't see shit. And I got asthma. Damn smoke gave me an attack. Almost died . . . No, the Bat didn't do shit for me. Just grabbed my trick and dragged him out the window, buck naked. He couldn't'a cared less if I died."

This was what he wanted. All the stories he'd read on Batman showed him busting criminals. They didn't show the fallout of his actions. The trauma, both physical and mental, that many would carry with them for the rest of their lives.

Clark had hoped to get more interviews higher up the proverbial food chain. He'd put in a request to interview one of Batman's "rogues" locked up in Arkham Asylum. That got denied. He'd also asked for an interview with Commissioner Gordon. He had yet to get back to him. That aggravated him more than not getting the interview at Arkham. If what Gil Merritt said was true, GCPD turned a blind eye to Batman's atrocities.

Well, not every cop turned a blind eye.

Clark's last stop was a modest office building in the Robinson Square neighborhood of Gotham, one of the few places in the city where he didn't expect a robbery or a drug deal to go down in plain sight. He took the stairs to the sixth floor, and the offices of Eagle Eye Investigations.

"Clark Kent, _Daily Planet_ ," he told the receptionist. "I'm here to see Isaac Rodriguez."

A minute later, a heavyset man with tan skin and receding hair greeted Clark and took him back to his office.

"Thank you for seeing me, Mister Rodriguez."

"Call me, Isaac." He waved him to a chair in front of his desk. "And it's no problem, especially if you want to hear the real truth about the Bat."

"I do."

"Heh!" Rodriguez dropped into his cushioned swivel chair. "Too bad we didn't have more like you in GCPD."

Clark took out his tape recorder. "How many years were you on the force?"

"An even twenty. Soon as I hit the big two-oh, I put in my papers, got my pension, and got the hell out of there."

"I'm detecting some bitterness."

"I think a first year journalism student could pick that up. Yeah, being in the department left a bad taste in my mouth. A lot better in this place." Rodriguez waved a hand around his office. "Instead of gangbangers, drug dealers, and psychos in crazy costumes, here I usually deal with cheating spouses, husbands who skipped town and owe a load of child support, and finding long lost relatives. A lot less stress, don't have to arrest anyone." His mouth formed a tight line for a moment. "Don't have to deal with a Commissioner who advocates vigilantism."

"Gordon," said Clark.

Rodriguez grunted. "He came in acting like some crusader, saying he'd fight corruption and get rid of crocked cops. Meanwhile, he became the biggest crocked cop of them all."

"How so?"

"C'mon." He threw up his hands. "When you're the commissioner, you're supposed to uphold the law. And last I saw, vigilantism is against the law."

"So why does Commissioner Gordon allow Batman to have free reign?"

"Gotham's a tough town. We've got the usual crime all big cities do, and a freakin' lot of it. Then on top of that, you've got these rogues trying to blow up or poison or freeze the whole city. I don't think Gordon has faith in the rank and file to deal with it. He feels that search warrants and due process and rule of law are inadequate against some of the threats we face."

Rodriguez shook his head. "But I don't buy it. As police officers, we have to be better than that. We have to uphold the law, even if we don't like some of the laws or even if it might hinder us from getting bad guys off the street. If we allow one man take the law into his own hands, ignore due process and civil rights, and beat up citizens so bad they spend days, even weeks, in the hospital, that's going to inspire others to do the same."

He slammed a hand on his desk. "Hell, it already has. All the Robins, Nightwing, Batgirl, Huntress, Gangbuster, probably the Question and Green Arrow. And don't even get me started on that Azrael whackjob. Before you know it, regular folk might decide to burn down the house of a registered sex offender or string up a teacher accused of molesting students or shoot some bank president because he foreclosed on some houses. No investigations, no trials, no consideration they might not have done anything criminal. Just go with your self-righteous feelings."

"And then you have anarchy."

"Exactly, Mister Kent." Rodriguez pointed at him.

Clark smiled. He took an instant liking to the former GCPD detective. Rodriguez fervently believed that the law had to be followed for the good of civilization. That as protectors of the peace, the police had act differently than the people they arrested. If they – _or if I –_ just smashed into any home they pleased or beat suspects to a pulp, they were no longer protectors. They were just thugs with badges.

 _Or in my case, a thug with a big red S._

"You actually compiled a list of all the civil rights violations committed by Batman, correct?"

"Yup." Rodriguez nodded, picked up his iPad, and handed it to Clark.

He shook his head, his disgust growing with each story he read. Batman had thrown suspects off roofs and bridges, snagging them with a grappling gun just before they hit the pavement or river.

 _How much longer before he misses one and they wind up splattered on the sidewalk?_

Countless criminals he'd sent to the hospital by Batman. Some had been so traumatized by the experience they had to be committed to mental institutions. A few were still institutionalized.

Breaking and entering, aggravated assault, kidnapping, threatening and intimidating, criminal damage, reckless endangerment – especially in his "Batmobile." Not just one count of each, but hundreds according to Rodriguez's files.

"Did you show this to Commissioner Gordon?"

"Plenty of times. He kept telling me to stop pursuing it, that the Bat has done a lot more good than bad. Of course, a lot of those meetings came after what happened with the Joker."

"What happened?" asked Clark.

Rodriguez's face sagged in a sullen expression. "A few years back, Joker broke into the Commissioner's place and shot his daughter Barbara, paralyzed her. Then he kidnapped Gordon . . ." He bit his lip. "Tortured him. Put him through some real sick shit. I may not like Gordon, but what he went through, I wouldn't wish on anyone. Anyway, Batman saved him. I guess he feels he owes the guy. That's why he let's him get away with all this crap."

Clark leaned forward in his seat. "Any idea who Batman is?"

"Well that's the million dollar question, isn't it? I've come up with some possible suspects. Nothing concrete. It's all just theory. The basics, white male, early to mid-forties, between six-foot and six-foot-three. Keeps himself in good shape. Most likely, it's a man who was the victim of a violent crime, or had a family member who was a victim. He's intelligent, athletic, skilled in martial arts, possibly ex-military. And given all his equipment and resources, he's well-funded. Either he has the bucks, or has a sugar daddy that's footing the bill."

Rodriguez took back his iPad and brought up the photos of four men.

"Your suspects?" Clark looked up at him.

"David Lusk. All-American running back from Gotham University. Drafted after his sophomore year, played two years for the Detroit Lions. Then his younger sister was raped and murdered. Went back to school to get his degree in mechanical engineering, and now runs a multi-million dollar consulting business."

Rodriguez pointed to another photo on the iPad. "Alex Solomon. Came from a well-to-do family. Joined the Navy SEALs. Parents were killed in a robbery. Then there's Stephen Turner. World Junior Karate Champion. Starred in a couple of teen action movies, made a wad of money before he was nineteen. Then one day his grandmother gets carjacked, shot seven times."

Clark eyed the fourth and final head shot. "What about this guy?"

"Mm. Bruce Wayne."

"Bruce Wayne?" Clark's eyes widened. "As in the owner of Wayne Enterprises?"

"The same."

"You think he's Batman?"

Rodriguez chuckled. "The billionaire playboy? Hell no. A guy like that loves his fast cars and fast women lifestyle too much to risk it by fighting the worst criminals in Gotham dressed as a bat. But . . ." He held up a finger for emphasis. "When Wayne was a kid, his parents were shot and killed right in front of him. And as far as wealth goes, he makes Bill Gates look like a starving college student. He may not be Batman, but a guy like that has the motivation and resources to support him."

 **XXXXX**

It was early evening when Clark returned to _The Daily Planet_ offices, chest out, smiling wide. Today had been a productive day. Not only did he have lots of personal testimony regarding Batman's cruelty, he also had three possible candidates for his true identity.

 _And a fourth who might know who Batman really is._ He found the Bruce Wayne angle the most interesting. Very few companies had their corporate headquarters in Gotham. With its reputation as one of the most crime-ridden cities in the US, it would be hard to attract people to work there. But that's where Wayne had most of his businesses. Perhaps he had a special affinity for his hometown and wanted to take it upon himself to make it safer.

 _Even if it means working with a lunatic._

Could that lunatic be Lusk or Solomon or Turner? Could Bruce Wayne be supporting one of them? Yes, all three were rich, but even their combined assets didn't come close to Wayne's net worth.

 _Or he could be funding someone who's not even on Rodriguez's radar._

Whatever the case, he had some great leads, and was well on his way to one hell of a story.

"Kent!"

He turned to see Perry White marching down the aisle separating the rows of desks. He debated whether or not to tell his boss about what he had so far on Batman.

 _No. Wait till you have the whole story. That will really impress him._

"Yeah, Chief."

"Break out you best suit." Perry strode past him, talking over his shoulder as he continued through the bullpen. "I've got a _big_ assignment for you tomorrow night."

Clark raised an eyebrow, noting the sarcastic tone in his boss's voice. "What is it?"

"You're covering Lex Luthor's gala for the Metropolis Library."

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	8. Chapter 8

"Metropolis's police commissioner was called before the U.S. Senate committee overseeing the hearings into Superman's battle with General Zod."

Clark stopped smoothing out his suit. He looked away from the full-length mirror on the door to the small TV on the bureau of the bedroom. The images switched back and forth between the thin form of Senator Finch and the beefy, bearded figure of Commissioner David Corporon in his dark blue dress uniform.

"Commissioner Corporon," Finch began. "Was Superman ever questioned following the Battle of Metropolis?"

"No, ma'am."

"Why was that?"

"Superman was working with the U.S. military at the time to stop the Kryptonian renegades. Many witnesses we spoke to said he saved several civilians during the course of the fight."

"Yet more than five thousand people died in Metropolis that day, including members of your own department."

Clark swallowed, images of the battle flashing through his head. His mind's eye conjured pictures of the Memorial, so many names etched in the wall.

 _Was there more I could have done?_

"A lot more would have died if he hadn't have stopped Zod. The whole world could have been destroyed."

Hands folded, Finch leaned closer to her microphone. "But if any of your officers are involved in a shooting, even if you know from the start that it was justified, you still conduct an investigation, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am," Corporon replied.

"Yet that did not happen with Superman, correct."

Corporon grimaced. "No, ma'am, but he is not a member of the Metropolis Police Department."

"I think that's a good reason why he should be questioned." Finch's voice went up an octave. "We can't have people cause so much destruction and loss of life and not be able to answer for it."

"With all due respect, ma'am, we have no idea where Superman lives. We can't just knock on his door and ask him to come down to the station like normal person of interest."

A few soft chuckles came from the audience.

Finch's eyes narrowed. "But you could have gotten on TV or the radio or online and asked him to come to Metropolis police headquarters to explain himself. But you didn't do that, did you?"

Corporon frowned. "No, ma'am."

A sharp breath shot out Finch's nostrils. "Then I'll do it."

Clark stiffened as the senator aimed her gaze at the camera. It felt as though the woman stared right at him. "Superman, I want . . . no. _I demand,"_ Finch stabbed her finger on her desk twice to emphasize the words, "that you appear before this committee and explain your actions during the Battle of Metropolis."

Clark's eyes remained locked on the television. He ignored the words of the reporter off-screen as more images rolled from today's hearing. All he could think of was Senator Finch's demand.

He felt he'd explained himself in the interview Lois did with him shortly after the battle. Judging by polls and social media posts, the majority of people in Metropolis, and around the world, backed him.

But would that support continue the longer Finch's hearing went on? Most of the witnesses she'd brought before the committee cast him in a bad light, and those who did feel his actions against Zod justified had been grilled without mercy.

Lois's warning rang in his head, about how the senators wanted him at the hearings to make him look bad. But they were already doing that without him there. And shouldn't he have the opportunity to present his side of the story to them?

Clark exhaled, turned off the TV, and looked himself over in the mirror. He'd think on this problem later. Right now, he had to earn a living.

 **XXXXX**

Bruce Wayne stood stiffly in the middle of his bedroom, watching CNN's coverage the Superman hearings. A stocky, balding man with glasses appeared on the screen.

"Yes, Superman has taken it upon himself to become the protector of humanity. But how many humans who felt they were champions for their people eventually turned on them? Lenin, Mao, Fidel Castro. Perhaps one day Superman might turn on us, subjugate us, in his eyes, for our own good."

"Superman has helped many people," one of the senators spoke up. "What would make him change like that?"

"Some traumatic experience," Hugo Strange responded in a low tone that reeked of superiority. "I have seen this before with Harvey Dent, the former district attorney of Gotham City. He was devoted to the pursuit of justice and put many criminals behind bars. Yet when his face was scarred by acid, the mental anguish he experienced turned him into the criminal dubbed Two-Face by the press."

Bruce's jaw stiffened. He'd never liked Strange. The man came off as aloof and acted like that no one on the planet could match his intellect. This time, he begrudgingly had to admit the psychiatrist had a point. Harvey Dent had been a good friend of his, both as Bruce Wayne and Batman. Other than Jim Gordon, he couldn't think of anyone else in Gotham more dedicated to justice than Dent.

 _Yet look what he became._

He shut off the TV, straightened his jacket, and headed to the garage. Soon he'd have the chance to break into Luthor's mainframe. Hopefully, he found something that might give the world a chance should Superman turn into a god-like version of Two-Face.

 **XXXXX**

Clark groaned as another fancily-dressed couple emerged from their limo. Cameras flashed around him and reporters shouted questions as shipping mogul Tyson Barker and his wife strode down a red carpet into Luthor's home.

 _This is so boring._ He could be home or in the _Planet's_ offices working on his Batman story. That was far more interesting and important than covering a bunch of millionaires dropping large checks for a library.

Not that he didn't think libraries were important. His parents had emphasized the importance of education, of always expanding your knowledge.

Still, galas for libraries would not lead to bigger and better assignments. His Batman story would.

 _Even better, it might get the Gotham authorities to take action against him._

Excited voices rose among the members of the press corps around him. Cameras swung toward a black Rolls Royce pulling up the drive. Out stepped a tall man with black hair. Clark's brow furrowed. He recognized him from the photo Detective Rodriguez showed him the other day.

"Mister Wayne! Mister Wayne!" several reporters called out.

Bruce Wayne nodded and waved to the press, entering the house without uttering a word.

Clark grinned, thinking of Rodriguez's theory that Gotham City's richest man could be funding Batman's activities.

 _Maybe this gala won't be boring after all._

 **XXXXX**

After the parade of the region's rich and famous, Clark and the other reporters made their way to the large reception hall. Men in tuxedos and women in evening dresses mingled, talked, and laughed. Waiters and waitresses weaved through the crowd with trays of food and drink. Clark helped himself to some delicious shrimp skewers and champagne. He regretted trying the goose pâté. The stuff tasted like feet. What he wouldn't give for a place to spit it out.

After forcing himself to swallow the disgusting appetizer, he scanned the room for Bruce Wayne. He spotted the billionaire chatting with Ron Pastore, the owner of Pastore's supermarket chain. Clark maneuvered through the crowd, getting closer to the pair.

He'd just excused himself around raven-haired woman in a red gown when Wayne shook Pastore's hand and turned away.

"Mister Wayne."

"Yes?" He looked up at Clark, who studied Wayne's face. The man didn't smile. Actually, he had the aura of a man who rarely smiled. Combined with those dark eyes, he appeared to be in a state of perpetual brooding.

"Clark Kent, _Daily Planet."_ He stuck out his hand.

"Nice to meet you." Wayne gave him a firm, but brief, handshake.

"I was wondering if I could get a couple of comments from you on the gala?"

"Sure." Wayne shrugged.

Clark pulled out his tape recorder. "So what's your reason for wanting to donate to the Metropolis Library?"

"Because even in the Internet age, libraries are vital. Reading books helps expand one's knowledge, plus it's enjoyable. My father had a large library, and when I was a kid, there were times I'd spend hours in there, reading history, philosophy, even a first edition copy of Jules Verne's _Journey to the Center of the Earth."_

"Could it be a futile gesture, since many surveys show a decrease in the number of Americans who read books?"

"That's another thing libraries can do," Wayne replied. "Promote programs that encourage reading, especially among children. If you stop reading, you stop learning, and when you're ignorant, it's easier for others to take advantage of you."

Clark nodded. _Now that I put him at ease . . ._ "Being one of Gotham City's most prominent citizens, I was wondering what your thoughts are on the recent violent actions of the Batman."

Wayne tensed. An intensity burned in his eyes. He drew a slow breath. "That's a rather out of place question, isn't it?"

"Not really. You live in Gotham. Surely you have an opinion on a man operating above the law, trampling on civil liberties, crippling people. After his branding attacks earlier this week, I imagine many people in Gotham are living in fear."

A wry grin crossed Wayne's face. "The _Daily Planet_ criticizing those who are above the law is a little . . . hypocritical, wouldn't you say? Considering every time your hero saves a cat out of a tree your paper writes a puff peace editorial about an alien who came this close to burning down your whole city."

"A lot of people don't see it that way, Mister Wayne." Clark hoped that was still true.

"Maybe it's the Gotham City in me. We have a bad history of freaks dressing up like clowns."

Clark said nothing, just stared at Wayne. He hadn't answered the question, but he seemed to be spoiling for a verbal fight. Judging by his granite expression and narrow eyes, Wayne might even be trying to intimidate him.

 _Good luck with that._ Now was the time to hit him with questions about actively supporting Batman. He didn't think Wayne would actually admit to it, but Clark could observe the man's body language, see if he might be lying.

"Bruce. So glad you could make it."

Both men turned to see a smiling Lex Luthor walk up to them.

"Lex," Wayne muttered, shaking Luthor's hand.

"Getting acquainted with the members of the Metropolis press, I see." Luthor eyed Clark's press pass. "Mr. Kent, a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, Mister Luthor."

The two shook hands. Luthor gave a faux wince. "Quite the grip you have. You must hit the gym a lot." He looked over his shoulder at Wayne. "You better not pick a fight with him."

The corner of Wayne's mouth curled just a bit. Clark did the same. It was all the reaction a lame joke like that deserved.

"So." Luthor put a hand on Clark's shoulder, steering him away from Wayne. "I imagine you want to do an in-depth interview about the gala, and all the other charitable activities Lexcorp is involved with."

"Umm . . ." Clark glanced at Wayne. He doubted the billionaire would pick up the interview where they'd left off. He'd either avoid him or say, "no comment" if he went after him a second time.

Shoulders slumped, he looked back at Lex. Perry had sent him here to cover the gala. He still needed to do his job.

 _Dammit._

 **XXXXX**

Bruce spun on his heel and strode off as Lex guided Clark Kent to the other side of the room.

 _Looks like I owe Lex Luthor one . . . There's a revolting thought._

At least he didn't have to deal with that pain-in-the-ass reporter from the _Daily Planet._ Now he could start concentrating on his reason for being here, breaking into Luthor's mainframe.

He knew most of the security set-up from the mansion's blueprints, and his previous two visits. Security cameras outside, but none inside. Luthor probably felt interior cameras compromised his privacy. The sensitive areas of house required keycard access. No problem there. He could palm one off a security guard.

Luthor didn't have any guards standing watch over the gala at fixed positions. Overt security might make guests feel uncomfortable. More likely they were blended into the crowd.

It took Bruce five minutes to ID them. Three total, all in dress suits, lean, well groomed. Not the typical beefy, no-nonsense, intimidating types. They weaved through the crowd, smiling and nodding to other guests, but not talking to anyone. Their eyes constantly darted around the room, searching for potential threats. He couldn't spot the telltale bulges of a shoulder rig. They probably had their guns concealed in small inside-the-pants holsters or ankle holsters. Bruce figured there had to be a few other guards roaming the mansion. Certainly one stationed by the mainframe room.

He decided to wait a half-hour before making his move. Most of the guests were newly arrived. The guards would be on high alert. The more time that passed without incident, the more they'd relax their posture.

Bruce passed the time chatting with the other guests. He just finished talking with one of Metropolis's city councilmen when spotted a dark-haired woman gazing at a tapestry on the wall. He straightened, the breath catching in his chest.

The woman was just under six-feet tall, her red gown hugging an athletic figure. She had her hair pulled back in a bun, accentuating her smooth, narrow face. "Regal beauty" was the best way to describe her.

Bruce made his way over to her. She kept her gaze on the tapestry, which showed a golden, snake-like dragon, until he got within a few feet of her. She turned her head toward him.

"Nice dragon." Bruce nodded to it.

The woman gave a slight nod and looked back at the tapestry. "I agree. I always liked the representations from the Shanghai School of the Qing Dynasty, the way they blended new methods while still respecting the techniques of past artists."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "You know your dragons."

The woman shot him a wry grin. "You'd be surprised, Mister . . ."

"Wayne. Bruce Wayne."

She swung around to face him, his gaze running over her gorgeous face. He guessed her age at late twenties, possibly early thirties. Very early thirties. But something in those dark brown eyes told a different story. They made her look older. Or experienced might be a better word.

"Diana Prince." She held out her hand.

He gave it a gentle shake, finding her grip firmer than he expected. "So what brings you here tonight?" he asked.

"To help the Metropolis Library. Isn't that why everyone else is here?" She tilted her head and gave him a half-grin, making her look more beautiful, more captivating.

"I think some of them are here so they look good in the _Daily Planet_ social page."

"Is that why you're here?"

Bruce softly chuckled. He liked Diana's wit. "I actually do think libraries are important. So I take it you're from Metropolis?"

Diana shook her head. "No, but I am a . . . frequent visitor to this part of the world."

"What do you do?"

"I'm an antiquities dealer."

"Really? Bruce leaned back, eyes wide.

"Are you surprised a woman would be in that field?"

"No, no. It's not that. It's just that most antiquities dealers I've met, well, look like museum pieces themselves."

Diana chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Bruce spotted a waiter approaching with a tray of champagne flutes. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"The drinks here are free, Mister Wayne." Diana snatched a flute from the tray and held it up before him. "I applaud you for your efforts. I'm sure we'll talk again." She walked away from him.

"Count on it."

Diana shot him a glance over her shoulder and continued into the crowd. Bruce smiled, his gaze darting up and down her body.

 _This gala could be a lot more enjoyable than I imagined._

He turned away and took a deep breath. _Time to start thinking with your big head, Bruce. You're here to do a job._

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	9. Chapter 9

Bruce made his way through the lavish hallways of Luthor's mansion, decorated with paintings, sculptures, even a couple of wall-mounted water features. He brushed his hand over his jacket pocket, feeling the plastic keycard within. Lifting it off one of Luthor's guards was easy. Getting into the mainframe room would likely prove more challenging.

He pictured the layout of the mansion in his head, all the while alert for roving guards. Left at this intersection. Past the kitchens. Down the steps to –

A shadow spilled across the bottom of the stairs.

Bruce glanced at the door to his left. He tried the knob. Unlocked. A flash of relief swept over him as he slipped inside. Shelves crammed with flour, spice racks, and other ingredients stood on either side of him. He left the door open a crack and held his breath, listening.

Muffled footfalls came from the carpeted stairs. Light, not heavy. Barely audible. Most likely female.

A thin, unsmiling woman with short hair and glasses strode past. Mercy Graves, Luthor's personal assistant. Though she did more than just schedule appointments and bring him his herbal tea. Mercy had received training from some of the world's best martial artists, making her just as formidable as any of Luthor's male bodyguards. Taking her down would take some effort, but he could do it.

But this wasn't the sort of place he could punch his way into and out of. This required stealth.

Bruce waited a full minute before pulling the door open a few inches and staring down the hall. No sign of Mercy. He exited the pantry, closed the door, and made his way downstairs. A check of the corridor showed it was empty. He headed left. The carpeting ended before a T-junction and become solid linoleum. Bruce guessed it had more to do with security than decor. It was harder to sneak up on someone on linoleum than carpet.

He moved softly on the balls of his feet, edging up to the corner. He pressed himself against the wall and listened.

 _Clomp. Clomp. Clomp._

The slow, deliberate footsteps came from the next corridor over, the one leading to the mainframe room. One guard.

Bruce took out his phone and opened a small compartment at the bottom. A tiny, round black object fell into his palm. Small legs and wings grew from the little robot insect. Another invention of Lucius's.

His jaw clenched, memories of his dead friend flooding his mind. Bruce shut his eyes, fighting to refocus.

 _You pull this off, and Lucius will get justice._ Lucius and thousands of others who died in Metropolis.

He tapped the screen of his phone. The robot's little wings fluttered. It flew out of his hand and down the hall. Bruce watched the feed from the robot's camera, guiding its flight with a control app.

It went left and perched on the wall. Bruce slid his finger over the screen, the camera sweeping over the hallway. The mainframe room lay to the left. A glass door – likely made of bulletproof polycarbonate glass – was the only access. A boxy keycard entry system had been installed next to the door handle.

He panned right and spotted the guard. This one didn't look like the ones at the reception, picked to blend in with the guests. He was stereotypical high-end security. Six-one, thick build, unsmiling. Not someone who'd go down easy.

Not that he had any plans to confront him.

The guard reached the end of the hallway, then made his way back toward the mainframe room. He repeated the circuit a second time. A third.

Pacing. A sure sign of boredom. Even the best-trained guards and soldiers weren't immune to it. This guy had been down here for over an hour, maybe longer. Nothing was happening. He had no one to talk to. So he paced, just to give him something to do. And his mind likely wandered. Maybe about drinks with his friends after work. Maybe about his fantasy football team. Maybe about seeking employment elsewhere.

Anything except protecting the mainframe room.

Bruce watched the guard pace, calculating his pattern. Thirty-one seconds on average to start from the mainframe room and finish and the end of the hallway before turning. But the guard did glance down the T-junction. That gave Bruce fifteen seconds to get down this corridor, then make it the rest of the way to the mainframe room. And he sure as hell couldn't sprint across this floor, unless he wanted to alert the guard.

 _Only way to pull this off is with some help._

He watched the guard complete his circuit and start a new one. Just before he got to the T-junction, Bruce commanded the bug drone to fly off the wall.

The guard came to the junction, glanced down the corridor, and continued on.

Bruce started forward, then caught movement out the corner of his eye. He snapped his head left. Something flickered near the corner at the far end of the hallway. He thought he glimpsed red. A trick of the light, maybe?

No time to dwell on it. He had to get this done.

Bruce hurried around the corner, running on the balls of his feet. He kept one eye on his phone. In five seconds, the guard would turn around.

The little robot flew in front of guard's face.

"Da'hell?' He jerked back in surprise, then swatted at the drone, missing.

Bruce slipped into the corridor, walking backwards. His eyes flickered between the image on his phone and the guard. The robot flew circles around his face, even hit his cheek twice. He kept swatting and kept missing.

Bruce was at the door to the mainframe room. Controlling the robot with one hand, he pulled out the keycard with the other and swiped it through the lock. He slowly turned the knob and slid inside. He crouched behind one of the rectangular mainframes and thumbed the screen of his phone. The robot shot upwards and settled on the ceiling. The guard stared up for a few seconds, face scrunched in annoyance. He shook his head, turned, and headed back toward the door.

Back pressed against the mainframe, Bruce watched the guard on his phone. His pace quickened a bit, a natural reaction for someone agitated. The guard reached the door, spun, and started back down the hall, still moving at a decent gait. Bruce guessed he had twenty-five seconds before the guard reached the end of the corridor and turned.

Plenty of time.

He slid out from behind the mainframe, took out a specialized USB drive with security breaching capabilities – another Lucius invention – and stuck it into a data port. A tiny red light near the drive's tip flickered, indicating it was sucking in information.

 _Now all I have to do is wait._

Bruce returned to his hiding place and checked on the guard. The man resumed his slower pacing, probably forgetting about the fly. Up one end of the hallway, and back down it. Never once did he enter the mainframe room. He had no reason to. In his mind, everything was fine.

Ten minutes later, Bruce checked the USB drive. The light turned from red to green.

 _Done._ He pulled out the drive, dropped it into the left breast pocket of his jacket, and hid behind the mainframe, waiting for the guard to start another circuit. When he did, Bruce slipped out of the room, tip-toeing just a few feet behind the guard. The man had no idea he was behind him.

Bruce turned the corner and started down the next corridor, checking his phone. He had the little robot buzz in front of the guard's face.

"Not again," the guard growled. "Luthor better get some damn exterminators in here."

Bruce made it to the end of the T-junction and around the corner. The robot zipped over the guard's shoulder, around the junction, and down the corridor back to him. Bruce caught it in his palm and inserted it inside his phone. With a satisfied nod, he set off.

Anticipation swelled, wondering what Luthor could be working on that might affect Superman. Could it have something to do with the phone call between him and Anatoli Knyazev? As soon as he returned to the mansion, he'd start going through the data.

Bruce reached the steps, looked up, and stopped.

Mercy Graves stood above him.

 _Crap._

"What are you doing down here?" Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses.

Bruce relaxed his muscles, letting his mouth fall open, trying to look innocent and dumb. "Oh. I thought the bathroom was down here. Sorry about that. My mistake." He tacked on an innocent smile.

A harsh breath shot out Mercy's nostrils. She frowned. "The bathroom's down this hallway to the right. Follow me. Mister Luthor doesn't like for people to wander all over his home."

"I understand. Thanks." Bruce tacked on another smile.

Mercy gave a small shake of her head and strode down the hallway.

Once he finished in the bathroom, Bruce made his way back to the reception. He'd say a few goodbyes, subtlety return the keycard to the guard he pilfered it from, then leave.

The string quartet began a waltz as he neared the living room. He'd barely taken three steps inside when a brunette in a red dress glided in front of him.

"Mister Wayne." Diana Prince smiled. "I thought you'd left."

His eyes swept up and down her trim figure. Heat flashed through him. "No, I . . . just needed some fresh air. That, and I can only take so much talk about mergers and new developments and political dealings."

"This coming from a man who's made a fortune with mergers, new developments, and political dealings."

"Guilty as charged." He grinned. "But even I need a break from all that."

Diana looked over her shoulder at the string quartet and the dancing couples. "Would that break include a dance?"

Bruce raised his eyebrows, a thrill flaring within his chest. "Definitely."

He took Diana's right hand and put his other hand on the small of her back. She brushed her free hand across the lower part of his jacket and rested it on his back. Bruce stared at her smooth, regal face, his heartbeat picking up. She was stunningly beautiful.

"So what kind of antiques are you looking for in Metropolis?" Bruce asked as they danced in a slow circle.

"Not so much specific antiques as people who may collect them. I'm sure many of the people here have objects hundreds, perhaps thousands of years old. They won't live forever, so I ask them to will some of their antiques to museums, that way everyone can appreciate history, not just a select few."

"How noble of you."

"Thank you."

"Did you make this pitch to Luthor?" asked Bruce.

Diana frowned. "Yes. He said he'd think about it, though from his tone, it was the 'I'll think about it' that means no."

"That's Luthor for you. He's only generous when it suits him."

"And what about you, Mister Wayne."

"Bruce, please."

"All right, Bruce." She smiled. "What about you? Are you generous with your antiques?"

He gave a small shrug. "I'm sure I have some things lying around that might peak your interest. I might even be willing to part with them without dying." He locked eyes with Diana. "Maybe we can talk about it over drinks."

Bruce felt her tense for a moment. She exhaled before answering. "That sounds delightful."

The waltz ended, and the crowd applauded the string quartet.

Diana put her hands on Bruce's chest and leaned closer. Electricity crackled through him. "Give me five minutes to freshen up."

She patted the left side of his chest, smiled, and walked off.

Bruce turned, admiring the sway of Diana's hips. This was turning out to be a productive night in more ways than one.

He headed toward the crowd for a quick round of goodbyes, Diana Prince dominating his thoughts. Luthor's files could wait a few hours. _Maybe until morning if everything goes well._

A date with a gorgeous antiquities dealer and all the information on Luthor's mainframe. Bruce pressed his hand against his left breast pocket, feeling good about –

He stopped, the smile vanishing. He felt his breast pocket again. It was flat.

The USB drive was gone!

Bruce calmed himself, retracing his steps since exiting the mainframe room. He hadn't taken the drive out of his pocket. That meant someone must have lifted it without him noticing. Someone he had close interactions with.

Very close interactions.

 _Diana._

He set off toward the front doors, walking quickly. He hurried outside, standing in the circular driveway, searching for that red dress.

Bruce spotted her getting into a red sports car. She made eye contact, shot him a wry grin, and slid inside.

The engine roared and Diana Prince sped off.

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	10. Chapter 10

_Stupid, Bruce. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

He sat in the Batcave, scowling at the large monitor in front of him, more mad at himself than Diana Prince. How the hell did this keep happening? After all those times with Selina Kyle and Talia al Ghul, he ought to know better than to let his guard down around beautiful women. Every time it happened, he swore that he'd learned his lesson, that he'd be careful next time.

Yet Diana Prince nicked the USB drive right out of his pocket.

He snorted and shook his head. That's how he was going to go out. Not from a bullet, a bomb, or poison gas courtesy of Joker, Penguin, or Riddler. No, some femme fatale would slit his throat while they were in bed. Why? Because no matter how smart he prided himself in being, he was still a man. A man who let his carnal needs get the best of him, again and again.

He slid forward in his chair, eyes narrowed. Self-recrimination wouldn't get that USB drive back. Hard work and determination would.

He'd memorized the license plate on Diana's car and ran it through state DMV records. It was registered to a rental car company in Metropolis. He hacked into the business's computer system and found Diana's credit card information. Bruce scanned her recent purchases, and saw she had reserved a room at the Sheraton near Metropolis International Airport yesterday.

And checked out less than two hours ago.

Bruce didn't see a new hotel on her statement. Maybe she left town. Or maybe she checked into another hotel and paid in cash.

He hacked into the Metropolis Transit Authority and ran an algorithm through its traffic cam system, hoping to get a hit on Diana's car. The cameras picked her up heading to the Sheraton, then away from it. The system last spotted her on Butler Street heading for the Hobbs Bay section of the city.

Then nothing.

None of the cameras on the bridges or interstates caught her car. So Diana was still in Metropolis. _And she could be staying at any one of its two hundred hotels._ Or she could be staying with a friend. Or she ditched her rental car for a new one. Or hopped on a bus and got out of town.

He snorted. Whatever the case, Diana's trail had gone cold.

 **XXXXX**

Bruce awoke minutes after the sun came up and went through his morning routine. Push-ups, crunches, pull-ups, lifting, and a run. He showered and headed to the kitchen, where Alfred already had breakfast waiting for him.

He polished off his oatmeal and started on his eggs when his phone beeped. The screen showed an image from a traffic cam near the Metropolis Museum. Diana's car pulled up to the curb. She got out and strode up the stairs.

 _Gotcha._ Bruce wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and got out of his seat. He passed Alfred in the living room.

"Sorry, Alfred. Have to cut breakfast short."

"Eggs not to your liking."

"No. I have an impromptu meeting with someone."

"Who?"

Bruce turned, his hand on the doorknob. He gave the butler a sly grin. "A woman."

Alfred huffed. "Of course."

 **XXXXX**

Bruce arrived at the Metropolis Museum a half-hour later and found Diana's car still parked in front. He went inside and grabbed a map of the museum. In tourist attractions like this, visitors started at the front, made their way to the rear, or in this case, the fourth floor, then returned to the front, filing through the gift shop before leaving. He stared through the glass windows to his left, into a room with t-shirts, ballcaps, DVDs, and other souvenirs.

Including a poster of Superman.

He sneered, then looked back at the map, calculating the amount of time needed for the average tourist to make their way around the museum. Four floors, well over a hundred exhibits and displays. Say an average of thirty seconds to view each one, longer the more interesting it seemed. An additional ten minutes or so if they attended a video presentation or two. An hour-and-a-half would be a good estimate.

 _Unless she's meeting with some museum official._ Except it was Saturday. Business like that usually took place on weekdays.

Diana had been here well over half-an-hour. If she behaved like the average tourist, she should be finishing up on the second floor and about to head up to the third floor.

Bruce jogged up the stone steps. He reached the third floor and strode down the left concourse. His eyes swept around the exhibition halls. Diana wasn't in the Native American Exhibit. Nor the Bronze Age Exhibit.

He halted at the entrance to the Ancient Greece Exhibit. Diana stood in front of a window displaying swords and shields, a white dress hugging her trim frame.

The woman had a great body.

 _Bruce. Not again._ He beat down his desire and slowly walked toward her. His reflection showed on the glass. Diana glanced up. She spotted it, but didn't move, didn't say anything.

Bruce sidled up next to Diana and followed her gaze to a rust-colored blade. "The Sword of Eris," he said. "Goddess of strife and discord. I bet she spread a lot of it with that sword."

"She didn't." Diana kept her gaze on the sword.

"How do you know?"

"Because it's a fake."

"Are you sure?" asked Bruce.

She turned to him. "Trust me."

Bruce chuckled. "Trust? It's not easy for me to trust thieves."

Diana shot him an elfish grin. "So you're upset because I stole something from you that you initially stole from Lex Luthor."

"Touché." Bruce gave an innocent shrug of the shoulders.

"So what were you after?" she asked. "Corporate secrets? Do you hope to have an advantage over a competitor?"

"Actually, what I wanted from Luthor is more personal in nature."

"If you say so." She exhaled, her smile widening. "Just so you know, I did not steal the drive from you. I borrowed it, and now I'm done with it."

Diana reached into her purse and pulled out the USB drive. Bruce held out his hand, and she dropped it in his palm.

"It's almost like you were expecting me to show up." He clenched a fist around the drive. No way would he put it in any of his pockets with this woman around.

Diana emitted a soft laugh. "You are Bruce Wayne, one of the richest men in the world. I'm sure you have the resources to find an antiquities dealer, especially one not trying very hard to hide from you."

She nodded to him. "Good day . . . Bruce."

Diana took three steps, paused, and turned. "By the way, there is something of a personal nature concerning you on that drive, and it's something you might want to share with a certain nocturnal friend of yours."

Bruce's eyes widened. He held his breath as Diana gave him a parting smile and left the exhibition hall.

 **XXXXX**

Diana's words stuck with Bruce the entire drive back to Gotham City. Did she know his secret identity? Worse, did Lex Luthor know?

 _She said my "nocturnal friend."_ Diana or Lex may not realize he was the Batman, but they might think he had some connection to him.

When he returned to the mansion, he went straight to the Batcave and uploaded the USB drive. Dozens of files appeared on the monitor. He scanned for anything having to do with his alter ego, but his gaze settled on a file labeled SUPERMAN DETERRENTS.

His finger hovered over the touch mouse. That had been the reason he broke into Luthor's mainframe room. But if the son-of-a-bitch knew he was Batman, that took priority.

 _If he did know, wouldn't he have used that information by now?_

Biting his lip, he clicked on the Superman file.

The first document to appear concerned something called PROJECT DOOMSDAY. Rather ominous. It had something to do with General Zod's body, but didn't go into specifics.

 _Work in progress, I guess._

Next came an image of a large bright green rock, identified as a fragment from Superman's home planet. Tests done by USAMRIID, the Army's version of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, showed that this Kryptonite killed cells taken from Zod's body.

Bruce sucked in a breath, staring at the file with unblinking eyes. This was it. Humanity finally had something to give them the edge over this god-like alien.

And Luthor was getting twenty pounds of Kryptonite, courtesy of Anatoli Knyazev. The rock had been put on a cargo ship scheduled to arrive at the Queensland Docks in Metropolis Friday night.

 _I know where I'll be Friday night._

Thoughts of shoving Kryptonite into the face of the damn alien got pushed aside by his other concern. What did Luthor know about him and Batman?

He scanned the files again. Another caught his attention. DEMON ATTACKS.

"What the hell is this?" He clicked on it. Several articles appeared, including one that read, "DEMONS DESTROY CHINESE VILLAGE." They all came from various conspiracy websites, the kind that crackpot The Question would love. A couple of crude drawings of winged, deformed creatures with sharp teeth accompanied the stories, along with a photo of an omega symbol burned into a wall.

"When did Luthor become interested in the occult?" He would have dismissed it as a hobby, but most people wouldn't hide their hobbies on a secure mainframe.

 _Unless Luthor thought it would hurt his public image._

Bruce closed the file and scanned the rest until he came to one labeled META-HUMANS/COSTUMED VIGILANTES. He clicked on it.

Several documents popped up. Bruce straightened in his chair, curiosity and concern colliding as he read the titles.

GREEN ARROW. NIGHTWING. THE ATOM. BLACK CANARY. THE QUESTION.

BATMAN.

His chest tightened as he moved the cursor onto that last document. Jaw clenched, he opened it.

Newspaper articles, news reports, photos, and videos cluttered the monitor. All about Batman. Toward the bottom, he saw a page titled, "Identity of Batman."

A trickle of sweat rolled down his temple as he read the opening paragraph.

 _While there are many viable suspects, we cannot confirm with one hundred percent certainty the true identity of Batman._

Bruce let out a relieved breath, sagging in his chair. Luthor had listed several possible candidates, along with those who could be funding Batman's activities. His name fell into the latter category. He still didn't like his name linked to Batman in any way, but better to be part of a multiple-choice list than the only suspect.

 _I'm going to have to be more mindful of my comings and going from now on._ He'd also have to beef up security around the mansion in case Luthor had anyone running surveillance on him.

Other documents caught his attention. He clicked one titled SPEEDSTER. It showed security cam footage of a person in a hooded sweatshirt – a young man, given his size, build, and posture. Some thug at the counter of the convenience store pulled a gun on the clerk.

Bruce's head jerked back when the hooded boy vanished in a blur. The next instant, the thug lay on the floor, rolling from side-to-side, the gun and the boy gone.

Notes appeared below the video.

 _Speed and reaction time estimated at 500 times that of normal human. Possible counters to this power include coating floors or roadways with ice or stringing near-invisible garrote wire at neck level for decapitation._

Another video appeared to come from an underwater ROV and showed a bearded man with long hair and a trident, which he used to smash the camera.

 _Subject tentatively codenamed Aquaman has ability to breath underwater, move at great speeds through water, and possesses superhuman strength. Obvious counter would be to lure him away from any body of water. This may weaken him._

Bruce clicked on another document. CYBORNETIC TEEN. A video taken from some lab showed a tall black man standing next to a desk with an undulating dark substance. Tendrils leapt from it and surged over a teen – _the man's son? –_ standing a few feet away.

The notes below the video read, _As a cyborg, a computer virus is one possible way to render it inoperable._

Gut tightening, Bruce looked back at the other documents. He was sure he'd find the same notes regarding countermeasures in all of them, including his.

Luthor was not only collecting information about costumed heroes, but how to defeat them.

 _As if Superman wasn't a big enough worry._

He was about to read the other documents, starting with Nightwing – he definitely had to let Dick know Luthor had him in his sights – when another caught his eye. AMAZON.

Curious, he opened it.

Mouth agape, Bruce fell back in his seat. "You've got to be kidding me."

He gawked at the grainy black and white photo of two soldiers in thick wool tunics and soup bowl helmets. Obviously World War I. That wasn't what astounded him. It was the woman standing between them. She wore some sort of chain mail dress with an American flag design and carried a shield. Her curled, dark hair fell past her shoulders. And her face, he knew that face damn well.

Bruce checked the information. Luthor had run tests on the photo and determined it had not been faked in any way.

Somehow, Diana Prince had taken a picture with two soldiers a hundred years ago, and had not aged a day since.

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	11. Chapter 11

"Good luck, Clark."

He turned to see Lois give him a thumbs up from her desk. He smiled, nodded, and stared at Perry White's office.

 _Moment of truth._ Shoulders squared, Clark marched across the bullpen, gripping the flashdrive containing his Batman story. He'd spent a good chunk of the weekend refining it. While it would have been nice to have comments from Commissioner Gordon, and more direct answers from Bruce Wayne, he had plenty of information to make it a good, meaty story, and an indictment on the Bat's history of brutality and callousness.

Clark paused for a breath, anticipation surging, and knocked on Perry's door.

"Come in," the editor-in-chief barked from his desk.

"Morning, Chief." Clark entered the office.

"Morning." Perry lifted his head. "What is it?"

"I've been working on a really good story." Clark held out the flashdrive.

"Mm-hmm." Perry stared at it.

Several seconds passed. His boss still didn't take it. "Um . . . This is definitely front page stuff. It could get a lot of people talking."

"You think so? Well, I'll decide for myself."

Perry took the flashdrive and plugged it into his laptop. He stared intently at the screen.

Clark studied his boss, trying to gauge his reaction to the story. His face remained stiff, inscrutable.

Silence enveloped the office as Perry kept reading. Clark clasped his hands behind his back, shifted from one foot to the other. Stared at the framed _Daily Planet_ front pages on the wall. Stared out the window at the Metropolis skyline, noting the skeletal steel structures of new skyscrapers going up to replace the ones destroyed during the battle with Zod.

Finally, Perry looked up from his laptop. Clark stood straighter, unable to keep the smile off his face.

"You really want me to run this?"

Shock hit Clark like a meteor to the face. His smile vanished. It took several seconds to regain the ability to speak. "Chief, you read it. The escalating level of violence. His history of brutality. Unfortunate people caught in the crossfire. And what about the Gotham City Police? They refuse to comment. They refuse to condemn the Batman's actions."

"You think this is something new? This has been going on for twenty years. And it's been going on in Gotham City, not Metropolis. You know, the city we cover."

"What about Isaac Rodriguez? What about what he had to say?"

"Yeah. An ex-cop with an ax to grind against his former superiors. And you really want me to run the names of the people he thinks might be Batman? Some of the richest and most successful people in this region? Can you say lawsuit, Kent?"

"Then I can interview them." Clark flung out his arms. "They can respond to Rodriguez's allegations."

"Yeah," Perry scoffed. "And if any of them are the Batman, they're really going to tell that to a reporter."

"But all the eyewitnesses. What about their testimonies?"

"Gangbangers, mob enforcers, and prostitutes. Those aren't exactly the most credible witnesses."

Clark's frustration flared. "So that's it? We're not going to do anything about it?"

"You give me absolute proof as to the Bat's identity, then I'll run it. Otherwise, this is a nothing story."

A harsh breath shot from Clark's nose. He shook his head. "This is wrong, Chief. The cover-ups. The total disregard of civil liberties. A vigilante given free reign over Gotham, terrorizing the population. It needs to stop, and this paper has a responsibility to do the right thing."

Perry's eyes formed angry slits. He rose from his seat. "First off, you do not lecture me on what this paper's responsibility is. You don't get to decide what the right thing is. That's my job. Just like it's my job to decide what news is worth printing. What's important, what will interest our readers. And a rehash of Batman's history is not interesting nor important. Nobody cares about Clark Kent taking on the Batman."

Lines etched across Clark's forehead. He clenched his teeth, holding back the anger, the insults, that built up in his mouth.

"We're done." Perry sat down. "Now go find me a story I can actually put in my paper."

With a parting glare, Clark spun on his heel and stormed out of the office. He had to restrain himself from slamming the door. Perry was pissed off enough. He'd be even more pissed if he shattered his glass door into a thousand splinters.

"So how did . . . it . . . go?" Lois's voice trailed off as he walked by her desk.

"Clark?"

"I need some air. I'll be back."

He took the stairs to the roof, changed into his blue suit and cape, and soared through the sky. He circled Metropolis, again and again, glancing more than once in the direction of Gotham City.

 _All the work I put in on that story. How could Perry dismiss it like that? Doesn't he care? Doesn't anyone care?_

He clenched his fists, his speed picking up. So much for thinking he could make a difference in the world without being Superman.

A faint cry of pain caught his attention.

Superman stopped, staring in the direction of the sound. His enhanced hearing picked up the cry again, louder, along with the dull thumps of fists on flesh.

He flew toward the fight, descending, scanning the city streets below.

There! In an alley. Three young men – gangbangers judging by their clothes – rained fists and feet down on another young man. Superman angled himself toward the beating.

"You think you can steal from me and get away with it, you little shit?" One of the gang members, a beefy man with several gold chains, kicked the victim, who lay in a fetal position. "We gonna stomp your ass flat."

Superman landed behind the gangbangers. He grabbed one and flung him over his shoulder. He crashed on top of an overflowing garbage can. Both the gangbanger and can toppled onto the pavement. A quick scan with his X-ray vision showed the young thug had bruised ribs, but no serious injuries.

"Aw shit. It's Superman." Another gangbanger jumped back, hands up. "Yo, chill, Blue. It's all good."

Superman stared at the bruised and bloodied man lying on the ground. He narrowed his eyes. "You beat this man half to death. Trust me, it's not good."

"Awright, awright, man. Just don't kill me."

"I'm not going to kill y-"

"Back off, bitch!" The beefy gangbanger whipped out a pistol, a compact Sig Sauer M11.

It cracked twice. One round missed Superman. The second tapped his chin. Wind whipped between the two as Superman snatched the pistol, then crushed it into a metal blob. He shoved the gangbanger, who flew a foot off the ground and into the brick wall. The beefy man collapsed to the ground, moaning.

A strangled cry of pain came from the injured young man. Superman turned. He swallowed a breath, his eyes bulging.

 _No!_

Blood seeped along the man's gut. But how . . .

The bullet. The one that ricocheted off his chin. It must have hit the battered young man.

Superman knelt beside him. "You're going to be fine. I'm going to get you help." He looked at the remaining gangbanger. "I'm going to get an ambulance. You keep pressure on his wound." He raised a finger, his face scrunching in a stern look. "Don't even think about leaving."

"Yeah, yeah, man. It's cool."

Superman flew off and found an ambulance six blocks away. He picked it up and flew it back to the scene. The gangbanger had not left, instead he had a dewrag pressed against the other man's stomach. The paramedics bandaged the wound, loaded the young man on a gurney, and wheeled him into the ambulance.

"Will he be okay?" asked Superman.

"Maybe," replied one paramedic. "He's lost a lot of blood, but he's got a fighting chance thanks to you, Superman."

He said nothing, just grimaced, staring at the injured young man in the ambulance before the other paramedic slammed the rear doors shut. How could he have let this happen? Did he believe the other gang members would just give up because he tossed their friend into a garbage can? Did he really believe his mere presence could prevent someone with too much testosterone and too little sense from doing something foolish?

And the young man in the back of that ambulance paid for his hubris.

He waited for the Metropolis PD to show up and gave his statement to one of the officers before flying back to the _Daily Planet._ Perry had an assignment waiting for him. The city government had hired a new Waste Management Director.

Clark scowled. That was apparently more important than a crazed vigilante branding and putting people in the hospital.

 **XXXXX**

Clark stood against the edge of the kitchen table, staring at the oven that contained the black pepper chicken, thinking about the incident in the alley when Lois entered the apartment.

"Good news." She swept in and kissed his cheek. "I called Metropolis General. The kid with the gunshot wound got out of surgery an hour ago. He's in ICU, and the doctors say he'll pull through."

"Good." Relief flooded Clark, but only for a few seconds. He lowered his head.

"What's wrong?" Lois grasped his arm. "He's going to be all right."

"What if it turned out differently?" said Clark. "What if that bullet hit him in the heart or severed his spinal cord? I was overconfident dealing with that gang. You told me once to never underestimate the stupidity or arrogance of criminals. I did today, and it almost cost someone their life."

"But it didn't. He's alive. If you hadn't been flying past that alley, he probably would have died. You did good."

Clark grunted. "I did good stopping Zod, but thousands of people still died. I did good bringing Baron Bedlam to the International Criminal Court, but Markovia descended into chaos with several different factions fighting one another. Those damn hearings on Capitol Hill make it sound like I'm going to flip out any minute and destroy the world, and you know Senator Finch is going to use what happened today to stoke that fire."

 _And I'm just sitting on my ass letting her get away with her bullcrap._ He kept that comment to himself, not wanting another argument with Lois about testifying before Finch's committee.

"It seems like whenever I do good, there are consequences that follow."

"No." Lois chopped the air in front of her. "That's not true. There have been plenty of times you've saved people and there wasn't the sort of fallout like in Markovia, or like what happened in that alley today. There are no guarantees in life, but it doesn't mean you stop trying to help people."

"I'm not saying I'm going to quit being Superman. It's just . . ." Clark rubbed his forehead. "I don't know. Maybe I need to be more careful, maybe I need to think more before I act. It's not like that blue suit came with an instruction manual. I'm just trying to do the best I can." He grunted. "Same with being a reporter, not that that worked out today."

"I'm sorry." Lois gave him a sympathetic smile and ran a hand up and down his back. "Part of the business. Still, Perry was wrong. It was a damn good story. Maybe if you come at it from another angle."

"No." Clark shook his head. "I think that was my only shot with a Batman story. But I can't, in good conscience, sit around while he continues this one-man reign of terror."

Clark straightened and took a deep breath. "I tried stopping him as Clark Kent, now I'll have to do it as Superman."

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	12. Chapter 12

_This doesn't sound good._

Clark clenched his jaw, staring at the TV as CIA Director William Vaughan testified before Senator Finch's committee.

"The CIA has obtained credible intelligence that Russia, China, India, and Iran are conducting studies into exotic weaponry to use should Superman threaten their countries," said the swarthy, dark-haired man. "These include antimatter and graviton-based ordnance."

The image switched from Vaughan to the anchor in the CNN studio, who interviewed Jack Soo, Vice President of R&D at S.T.A.R. Labs.

"Dr. Soo, if the kinds of weapons Director Vaughan talked about are created, could they be effective against Superman?"

"It is very possible. In quantum field theory, gravitons mediate the force of gravitation. Therefore, if manipulated properly, a graviton-based weapon could negate Superman's power of flight. Or, a significant increase of the local gravitational field could possibly crush him."

"What about antimatter?" asked the anchor.

"The US Air Force has conducted research into that field for years," said Soo. "I consider this a more plausible weapon than one based on graviton particles, which are still theoretical in nature. Contact between matter and antimatter annihilates both. As powerful as Superman is, he is still made up of matter."

The scientist's mouth tightened for a moment. "One of the biggest concerns with an antimatter weapon is its potential destructive capability. One gram has the explosive force of 43 kilotons, the equivalent of nearly three Hiroshima-sized atomic bombs."

Sighing, Clark pushed himself into the cushions of the sofa and gazed at the ceiling, shaking his head. Lois, sitting next to him, gently grasped his hand.

"Wonderful," he muttered. "Now I'm starting a whole new arms race."

"You can't blame yourself for this, Clark." Lois slid closer to him. "And you heard Doctor Soo. There's been research into antimatter weapons long before you arrived on the scene. Last I heard, no one's managed to build an antimatter bomb yet. It could be years, maybe decades, before someone does. Or maybe no one ever will."

"How long did it take this country to build the first atomic bomb? Less than three years. And why? Because they were afraid of the Nazis and the Japanese being the first to build one. Now you have these countries scared of me. Who's to say that won't spur them to hurry up and build an antimatter bomb? And God help us if they have an accident while they're rushing to get it done."

Lois licked her lips, glanced at the TV, then back to him. "You know how many 'credible intelligence reports' turned out to be false? This could be another one."

"What if it's not?" He looked at Lois, drumming the fingers of his free hand on his knee. How much longer could he sit here and let Finch and her committee paint him as the greatest threat to humanity? Lois kept saying that appearing before the committee would give them the chance to make him look even worse.

 _They're making me look pretty bad without me there._

Clark got to his feet and headed to the bedroom.

"Where are you going?" asked Lois.

"Flying. I've got some thinking to do."

 **XXXXX**

Batman peered through his night vision binoculars at Queensland Docks, trying to ignore the concern that had been scratching the back of his mind all week.

 _Superman or Luthor. Which one do I concentrate on?_

He'd convinced himself that Superman had to take priority. Luthor couldn't toss around aircraft carriers or survive missiles or melt armor plating with heat vision. Besides, he'd alerted all the heroes on that list – at least, the ones he knew how to get in touch with – and Nightwing had volunteered to do surveillance on LexCorp. Luthor was covered.

Still, Batman didn't like the idea of doing nothing while that piece of slime planned ways to take out him and the other heroes.

 _His information is incomplete. He won't make any moves right away._

He hoped he was right.

"Batman," a woman's voice came from his earpiece. "ROV Three picked up our target entering the West River."

"Copy, Oracle," he replied to Barbara Gordon. Though paralyzed, she still helped him in his war on crime as his eyes and ears.

He cast his gaze down, shoulders sagging. He missed having Batgirl at his side, battling rogues and other assorted scum.

Just like he missed having Dick at his side.

And Jason . . .

Batman's throat clenched. He shut his eyes, forcing the sorrow and guilt from his mind. He needed to focus on the here and now.

Batman raised the binoculars back to his eyes. Five dark-clad men with automatic weapons approached Pier Seven, along with a panel van.

Oracle gave him updates on the cargo ship's progress via three remotely operated vehicles cruising under the water of the West River. The vessel was ten minutes from docking. Batman had also placed hidden cameras and parabolic microphones throughout the docks to keep track of Knyazev and his men.

The Russian had ten mercenaries with him. Oracle had run their images and voices through a variety of law enforcement databases. It was the typical mixed bag of mercs. They came from a variety of countries. All of them had prior experience with their respective militaries or intelligence services. They also carried top-of-the-line equipment. German-made HK416 rifles, Glock 40 pistols, encrypted radios.

Not the sort of opponents he could afford to take lightly.

Knyazev also had two SUVs, black Suburbans, probably armored, three men per vehicle. One guarded the entrance to the docks, the other was on roving patrol, monitored at all times by Oracle.

From his perch behind a bulky HVAC unit, Batman spotted the cargo ship, oblong-shaped with the island set near the stern and rectangular containers filling the center of its deck. A feeder vessel, the smallest class of container ships.

Shortly after it docked, a chubby, bearded man in a white peaked cap exited the bridge and descended the stairs. The ship's captain. Four more people followed. Two carried rifles, the other two lugged a steel crate. Batman drew an anxious breath. The Kryptonite had to be in there.

He zoomed in as the new arrivals walked up to Knyazev. One of them opened the crate, revealing a green stone.

"Oracle, I have confirmation on the Kryptonite."

"Copy, Batman."

Knyazev took out his cell phone and tapped the screen. The captain stared at his phone, looked up at the former KGB assassin, and nodded. Batman figured the man received payment for his services.

The captain and his sailors returned to the ship, leaving the crate behind. Two of Knyazev's men carried it to the panel van. The Russian then put the phone to his ear.

"Knyazev is calling in the SUVs," reported Oracle. "He's making another call . . . it's to Luthor . . . he told him he's on his way with the Kryptonite."

"Copy, Oracle."

Batman hurried away from the HVAC unit, bent at the waist. He hit the remote control on his utility belt just as he reached the parapet. The Batmobile slowly rolled out of the warehouse across the alley. Attaching a grapple to the parapet, he lowered himself to the ground.

"The first SUV is approaching the van," Oracle said as the Batmobile's canopy slid open. "The second SUV should arrive in twenty seconds."

"Copy. I'm in position." Batman jumped into the driver's seat and donned a helmet. He punched a few buttons on the console. The helmet-mounted display showed feeds from the various surveillance cameras around the docks. One SUV pulled up in front of the van, the other behind it.

Batman took slow breaths, keeping his heartbeat steady. He gripped the steering wheel with his left hand. His right index finger hovered over a button on the console. His foot brushed against the gas pedal. He just has to wait for the right moment.

The small convoy drove away from the pier. One of the screens in the HMD showed a virtual map of the Queensland Docks with three red dots indicating Knyazev's vehicles. A brief grin traced Batman's lips. Barbara had a knack for anticipating what information he needed.

She also recognized the potential threat Superman posed to the world, unlike Alfred. Even with the news today, the butler refused to see the alien's mere existence had a destabilizing effect on the world. As if having nuclear weapons weren't bad enough, now governments wanted to build antimatter and graviton weapons. If successful, he doubted the leaders of those nations would limit the use of such devices to combating Superman.

 _So which happens first? Superman conquers the world, or we blow it up?_

"Ten seconds from red line." Oracle's words snapped him out of his reverie.

Batman stomped on the gas, eying the virtual map as the Batmobile shot forward. The convoy neared a red line at one of the intersections.

He twisted the wheel with one hand. Tires screeched as the Batmobile rounded a corner. His right index finger remained over the button on the console.

The first dot crossed the red line.

Batman's finger came down on the button.

His gaze shifted to one of the monitors. A hidden spike strip shot across the road. The van drove across it and wobbled as its tires blew out.

The Batmobile roared through the docks. Both hands on the wheel, Batman whipped around the corner. All three vehicles had stopped. Mercenaries spilled out of them, rifles at the ready. Two from the rear SUV spotted the Batmobile and fired. Bullets sparked off the black, sloped vehicle's armored hide.

Batman fired smoke grenades from the rear launcher. Clouds of gray burst around the mercenaries as he slammed on the brakes. The canopy slid open. He leapt from the Batmobile and into the smoke.

One of the mercenaries cursed in his native language. It sounded like Polish. Batman pinpointed the direction of the voice and summersalted toward it. Through the smoke he saw the silhouette of a human form. Batman sprang to his feet and rammed the heel of his palm into the merc's face. The man stumbled back. Batman launched a sidekick into the merc's stomach. He grunted and collapsed.

A rifle crackled behind him. Batman dropped to his knees. Bullets snapped past, missing him by several feet.

The rifle fired again. He drew a bat-o-rang and threw it in the direction of the gunfire. The dull _thud_ of metal on flesh sounded through the smoke.

The cloud of gray began to dissipate. It became easier to see the rest of Knyazev's men.

And if he could see them, they could see him.

Two more bat-o-rangs zipped through the air. Two more mercs fell. Batman sprinted by the rear SUV when its driver's side door open. A merc scrambled to get out, pistol drawn.

Batman whirled around the kicked the door into the merc. He jerked, the pistol falling from his hand. Batman kicked the door again, the window cracking against the merc's head. He tumbled out of the SUV, unconscious.

Movement to the front. A mercenary brought up his rifle. Batman ducked as the other man opened fire. Bullets cracked overhead. Batman took out a grapple gun and fired it. The cable wrapped around the merc's legs. Batman yanked. The merc fell on his back, the rifle flying from his hands.

Batman bounded over to him and kicked him in the face.

Another merc appeared in front of him, pistol up. Batman knocked the man's gunhand away just as he pulled the trigger. The merc launched a forearm into Batman's face. Pain exploded across his mouth and jaw. Batman blocked it out and rammed a knee into the merc's stomach. He then grabbed the back of the merc's head and slammed his face into the hood of the SUV. He sagged to the ground.

Seven mercs down. Three to go. Four counting Kynazev. Where the hell was –

An engine roared. The lead SUV wheeled to the left, then stopped. Something rose from its roof. Batman's eyes widened when he recognized it.

An M134 minigun. Six barrels. 7.62mm caliber. Capable of firing 6,000 rounds per minute.

And it was aimed right at Batman.

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	13. Chapter 13

Batman dashed to the right.

The minigun fired.

Tracers lashed through the air. The gun arced toward Batman, buzzing like a thousand enraged hornets. He leapt across the rear SUV's hood and kept running. Rounds pounded the vehicle's side.

Arms over his face, Batman jumped through the window of the warehouse. Glass shattered. He hit the ground, rolled and lay flat.

Rounds beat a tattoo against the wall, tearing dozens of holes in it. Batman remained on his back. Yellow tracers zipped overhead.

"Oracle. Location of the SUV with the machine gun."

"It just pulled up alongside the warehouse," replied Barbara. "Approximately twenty feet from the window you jumped through . . . aw crap!"

"What?"

"Bad news."

More bullets shredded the wall.

"Hard to imagine this getting worse."

"Knyazev's van drove off," radioed Oracle. "It must have had self-sealing tires."

"Dammit." Batman scowled. He should have anticipated that.

The minigun ceased firing. A heavy silence fell over the docks. Batman drew a quick breath, then held it. He didn't rise.

The buzzing started again. More rounds tore through the wall. Tracers streaked barely a foot above Batman. They must have lowered the gun, probably as far as it would go.

His hand slid toward the utility belt. Batman removed two grenades, and waited. Knyazev's men were pros. The one on the minigun would stop firing soon, otherwise the barrel would melt from continued use.

The firing stopped.

Batman eyed the window two down from the one he jumped through. The barrage had taken out all the glass. He flung the smoke grenade through the opening. It burst outside, spewing a cloud of grey.

Would the gunner take the bait, or be smart enough to recognize a distraction?

The minigun fired. Tracers slashed through the smoke.

Batman grinned and rolled across the floor. He sprang to his feet and looked out the window he'd jumped through. The SUV sat in the middle of the road. Its minigun fell silent, then slewed back toward him.

He threw the thermite grenade. It hit the minigun. An intense orange flame consumed the weapon. At 4,000 degrees Fahrenheit, the barrel melted within seconds. Sparks flew from the roof as the minigun's remaining ammunition cooked off.

Batman leaped through the window and sprinted toward the SUV. Flames swept across the roof. The driver's side door flew open. The merc jumped out, looked up, and went for his pistol.

Batman's fist cracked against the merc's jaw. He spun and sagged to a knee. Batman grabbed the merc's left arm, picked him up, and threw him over his shoulder. He slammed into the pavement and lay there, groaning.

"What's Knyazev's location?" Batman hurried to the Batmobile.

"He's left the docks," Oracle told him, her voice tinged with frustration. "There aren't any traffic cams in the vicinity I can hack into."

"Keep at it. He has to pass a traffic cam in Metropolis sometime."

The canopy was halfway closed when Batman stomped on the gas. The Batmobile roared through the Queensland Docks. Knyazev couldn't have more than a mile or two head start on him, and the Batmobile was faster than any panel van.

He'd catch the SOB, and get that Kryptonite.

 **XXXXX**

Superman's brow furrowed. He hovered in the night sky over Metropolis, staring west. His enhanced hearing picked up gunfire and explosions coming from the Queensland Docks. It sounded like someone was having a small war. Gangs? Mob? Terrorists?

 _Whoever it is, they're in trouble._

He flew toward the docks, scanning the streets below. A panel van driving up Tesla Avenue swerved past a couple of cars, well over the speed limit. Could it be linked to the gunfire?

Superman started to descend toward the van when the noise from another engine reached his ears. Powerful, guttural. Not like any vehicle he'd ever heard.

He looked back at the docks. A squat, sloped car, painted entirely black, tore through the streets.

Superman slowed, eyes wide. It was the Batmobile.

His jaw clenched. Anger boiled in his gut. Bad enough that psycho terrorized Gotham City. Now he wanted to bring all that brutality to _his_ city?

No. No way in hell he'd let that happen.

Superman angled himself toward the street. He was putting an end to the Bat, tonight.

 **XXXXX**

Batman continued to drive north. Knyazev only had three directions of escape. South was unlikely, as the bay was less than a half-mile from here. He might go east, but Metropolis was ten miles across. The Russian would soon run out of asphalt.

It had to be north. Knyazev could drive for hundreds of miles, all the way to Canada if he wanted.

But he wouldn't go that far. Knyazev would meet with Luthor in Metropolis or on the outskirts of the city. Probably not at LexCorp headquarters. Luthor wouldn't want a wanted mercenary and arms dealer showing up at such a public place. Same with his mansion. Who would want someone with the nickname "KGBeast" knowing where they lived?

The meet could be in some secluded spot in the woods. Or some property Luthor owned through a dummy corporation. Metropolis was 300 square miles in size. Knyazev and Luthor could be making the deal within any one of them.

He needed that van to pass a traffic camera. Once Oracle saw it, he could –

Something dropped in front of him. Something blue, with a red cape, and a red "S" on its chest.

"Shit." He tensed, unblinking eyes squarely on Superman.

The alien didn't move, just stood in front of the Batmobile, eyes narrowed.

Batman swerved to avoid him.

A blue streak moved in front of the vehicle. A quake rocked the Batmobile as it jolted to a halt. The seatbelt dug into Batman's suit, keeping him from soaring into the windshield. He drew a ragged breath and looked up.

Superman held the engine over his head. He then flung it toward the sidewalk as easily as a normal man would throw an apple.

Two words flashed in red on one of the monitors.

ENGINE FAILURE.

"Yeah, I noticed," Batman growled, his hand above the console.

Superman tore off the canopy like it was cardboard.

Batman's hand slammed down on the grenade launcher button. Four rounds exploded right in Superman's face.

Batman fired a grapple gun at the nearest building. He soared through the gray cloud that enveloped the Kryptonian. He punched in a code on his remote just before he reached the roof.

The Batmobile's self-destruct program activated. A series of C4 and thermite charges exploded in a ball of white-hot flame.

Batman hit the roof running. Dark disgust flowed like a river through him. He hated the thought of fleeing an enemy. But he had to accept his limitations. He was not ready for a confrontation with Superman. Not without the Kryptonite that was getting farther away from him by the second. He couldn't go hand-to-hand with Superman. It would be akin to punching the hull of a battleship. The smoke grenades and explosives would only distract Superman, probably for a few seconds at best.

All he could do was hide in the shadows, avoid Superman, and try to pick up Knyazev's trail. Without that Kryptonite he didn't stand a chance.

Batman grappled over to another building. He came down on the roof . . . and felt a gust of wind.

Superman stood in front of him.

Batman tossed a flash/bang grenade and darted left, looking away from the alien. A muffled _thump_ sounded behind him. He checked over his shoulder.

Wisps of smoke filtered out from Superman's closed fist. He'd actually caught the grenade. The alien glowered at him.

 _Not good._

Batman reached for more grenades. Another gust of wind washed over him. His hand slid past his waist. He looked down.

His utility belt was gone.

"Looking for this?"

Batman lifted his head. Superman clutched the utility belt, then threw it into the darkness, toward the West River.

Arms at his side, fists clenched, Batman locked eyes with Superman. His mind raced to come up with options to counter him.

He couldn't think of any.

 **XXXXX**

Superman stepped toward Batman. The dark-clad vigilante stood his ground, not flinching, not showing any sign of fear. Was it some last act of defiance? Would he actually try to fight him?

Superman opened his mouth, but held his tongue. He'd been ready to tell him to bury the Bat . . . or else.

But would there be consequences if Gotham City did not have Batman?

 _What consequences? There'd be no crazed vigilante sending people to the hospital._

Superman thought about the unintended consequences of his own good deeds. Getting rid of a dictator resulted in a bloody civil war. Saving a young man from a beating got him accidentally shot. And Zod . . .

If he forced Batman into the shadows forever, would criminals overrun Gotham? Would rogues like Joker and Two-Face terrorize the city a hundred times worse than the Bat?

Could he live with more innocent blood spilled because he tried to do the right thing?

"So are you just going to stand there," grumbled Batman, "or do you have something to say?" He scowled. "Or maybe you want to drop a building on me."

Rage sent tremors through Superman's body. He needed a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. "The branding. The crippling of people. It stops, now."

Batman said nothing, just glared at him.

"You want to fight crime? You do it with minimal force. This is your only warning. Next time I see your symbol burned into someone's skin, the next person who's in a body cast because of you, I will be back . . . and you will be done."

Batman didn't respond. Superman wondered if he ignored every word he'd said.

"You just got a new lease on life," said Superman. "Use it wisely."

He waited for a response from Batman, some sort of acknowledgement. He never got it.

With a short grunt, he walked away.

"Tell me," Batman said in a gruff voice.

Superman stopped and turned back to him.

"Do you bleed?"

 _What?_ Superman's brow furrowed.

"You will."

Superman tilted his head. Batman couldn't be serious. The psycho actually thought he could make him bleed?

 _Just false bravado._ The guy probably didn't want to look weak, defeated. He probably needed that bit of defiance for the sake of his ego.

Superman shook his head and shot into the sky.

 **XXXXX**

Batman watched the alien vanish into the night. The son-of-a-bitch had actually thrown down the gauntlet first. Threatened him to stop protecting Gotham City. _His_ city. Wanted him to be nice to the slime that oozed through its streets, spreading violence and misery, corrupting all they touched.

 _And if I don't do as told, will I get my neck snapped?_

Now more than ever, he had to get that Kryptonite.

But first . . .

"Oracle."

"Yeah, Batman?"

"Call Alfred. Tell him I need a ride back to the Batcave."

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	14. Chapter 14

Batman perched on the roof, staring at the street below, waiting for Alfred. Will the butler still insist Superman was one of the good guys after this? If this wasn't a sign of power corrupts, what the hell was?

His jaw clenched. Would Superman give similar dictates to other heroes? Would he tell Green Arrow, the Question, and Gangbuster to be less violent, or else?

 _This from the man who nearly destroyed Metropolis just to kill Zod. Hypocrite._ Had Superman become too enamored with his power? Would he decide the only way to bring peace and order to the world was to eliminate anyone who didn't agree with him?

Batman shuddered, imagining cities reduced to charred landscapes and piles of corpses.

Getting the Kryptonite from Luthor was imperative.

A grapple gun snapped behind him. Hooks dug into brick with a dull _thunk._ Batman swung around, fists up.

A slender man in a black and dark blue uniform landed on the roof and retracted the grapple.

Batman relaxed. "Dick."

"Bruce." Dick Grayson, a.k.a Nightwing, nodded.

"What are you doing here?"

"Alfred called and told me what happened. I thought I'd check in on you."

Batman grunted and scowled. He didn't need people checking in on him. "I'm fine. And you should be watching Luthor."

"I've been watching him for three days," said Nightwing. "He's coming, he's going. I even snuck into Lexcorp headquarters to snoop around, and getting past that security wasn't easy. I couldn't find anything to suggest he was about to make any kind of move against us or any other hero. Maybe he wants to get more information on these meta-humans before he does anything. Hit us all at once instead of one at a time, keep us from teaming up to stop him."

Batman tilted his head, mulling over what Nightwing had said. The old Sun Tzu quote from _The Art of War_ came to mind. "If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the outcome of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat."

He knew Luthor had read that book, just like he had, and most successful business people around the world. Luthor wouldn't act until he knew all the heroes abilities, and how to counter them.

Pride flared in Batman as he stared at Nightwing. He had taught him well.

"You're probably right. You can head back to Bludhaven. Besides, I have a more immediate concern."

"Superman?" Nightwing crossed his arms.

Batman glared at his former partner, who continued, "Alfred told me that, too. You really think he's a threat to the world, after all he's done?"

"You mean nearly destroying Metropolis, killing thousands."

"How about destroying that terraforming machine in the Indian Ocean? If he hadn't done that, goodbye Earth and hello New Krypton."

"You think someone with that kind of power will keep being mankind's savior forever?" Batman spoke in a sharp tone. "What if one day he decides the only way to save us is to rule us? What if tonight was the start of it? Try to get me to fall in line." He told Nightwing about Superman's warning.

"Maybe he has a point," said Nightwing. "Maybe you have gone too far with branding criminals."

Batman grimaced. "You didn't see what they did to those women. And saying I have a new lease on life, to use it wisely or I'm done. That doesn't sound like a threat to you?"

"You really think if you don't tone it down Superman will kill you?"

"He's killed before."

Nightwing let out an exasperated breath. "He did that to save that family from being fried by Zod's heat vision."

"What did I tell you?" Batman took a step toward him. "About why we don't kill?"

Nightwing looked down for a second. "Because it's too easy."

"Right. Kill one, and then you can justify killing the next one, and the next, and the next, and soon you'll find any reason to kill. And Superman's started down that path."

"And you think this magic rock Luthor has can stop him?"

"You saw the footage from the battle in Smallville," said Batman. "Bullets, shells, missiles. None of them so much as scratched him. We have to have some advantage against him, some way to neutralize his powers."

Nightwing shook his head and withdrew his grapple gun. "You know, this is why I went solo when I did. I didn't want to end up as paranoid as you are."

"What you call paranoid, I call being realistic."

"Whatever. I'm going back to Bludhaven." Nightwing turned away, paused, then looked over his shoulder. "Hey, Bruce."

"What?"

"You said you wanted to 'neutralize' Superman's powers, right?"

"Yes."

Nightwing stiffened. "What if Luthor's rock doesn't simply neutralize Superman's powers. What if the only way to neutralize his powers is to kill him?"

Batman drew a slow breath. He stared at Nightwing, trying to come up with an answer.

He stayed silent as his former partner swung away into the night.

 **XXXXX**

"You'll bleed?" Lois drew her head back in surprise as she leaned against the kitchen counter. "He actually said that to you?"

Clark nodded. "Not exactly the response I expected."

Lois let out a derisive laugh and shook her head. "And how does he expect to make you bleed? He's a nut in a bat suit. He doesn't have any superpowers." She folded her arms, brow furrowed in thought. "Sounds to me like he ODed on testosterone. Batman's had the run of Gotham for twenty years, and now here's the upstart hero . . ." She held up her hand. "No offense."

"None taken."

Lois smiled and continued. "Here's the upstart hero telling him to do things differently or else. I doubt his ego could handle that."

"Well, too bad about his ego." Clark crossed the kitchen and stood next to Lois. "This violence he's committing has to end."

"What if he ignores you? What if he keeps branding and crippling people?"

Clark sighed, staring at the tiled floor. "I don't know. Maybe I can drop him at Arkham Asylum. Maybe he can get the help he needs there."

"Good luck with that. He'll probably escape, just like all those rogues he battles. There's a reason Arkham's called 'Revolving Door' Asylum."

"Mm." Clark stuck his hands in his pockets, searching for a response. He had none. Batman might be unbalanced, but all his research indicated he was smart and resourceful. He had to be to survive this long on the mean streets of Gotham City.

Lois had a good point. The Bat probably would escape from Arkham. So what then? Killing him wasn't an option. Expose his true identity? What if that endangered his loved ones? Maybe he could threaten to reveal Batman's identity.

Clark grimaced. He hated the thought of stooping to blackmail.

His shoulders slumped as he thought back to his childhood in Smallville, imagining himself using his powers to stop bad guys. It seemed so simple. Knock out a robber, turn him over to the police, and fly away, the day saved.

Unfortunately, being a hero was not that easy.

 **XXXXX**

Rain hammered the window when Clark woke up the next morning. Lois wasn't in bed. Probably down at the apartment complex's fitness center getting in her morning workout.

After going to the bathroom and getting dressed, he started the coffeemaker and turned on his laptop. He wanted to scan the _Gotham Gazette's_ website to see if Batman had branded any criminals, just to throw Clark's warning back in his face.

Instead, he noticed a still frame of him standing on the burning wreckage of the Batmobile, with a link titled, "Crosstown Battle: Batman V Superman."

Groaning, he clicked on the story.

Someone had taken a video on their phone of him ripping out the Batmobile's engine, the smoke grenades exploding in his face, and finally, the Batmobile erupting in flames.

"Oh snap!" said a voice off camera as Superman flew up to the roof of a nearby building. "You see that? Bats just punked out Supes. Classic."

Clark typed "Batman V Superman" into Google. It was the lead story of the day. Newscasters and analysts wondered why the two heroes were fighting in Metropolis.

He clicked on one story from WHUB in Hub City. A blond newscaster stated, "WHUB was forwarded this video from the enigmatic vigilante known as The Question, who had these statements regarding last night's confrontation between Batman and Superman."

The image switched to a grainy black and white video with a faceless man in a dark fedora. "This is the beginning of Superman's takeover. He will now seek out and neutralize all costumed crimefighters and superpowered beings, making sure no one can challenge him. When everyone with abilities beyond normal humans is eradicated, the world will belong to him."

Clark slapped a hand against his forehead. _This guy should be wearing a tin foil hat instead of a fedora._

 _But how many people will believe him?_

Next he clicked on a story with comments from Senator Finch.

"I do have some issues with Batman's methods," Finch said in her Kentucky drawl. "But he does try to protect Gotham City. So why is Superman fighting someone many consider a hero? Does he think he's the only one qualified to be a hero? Does he have a more sinister motive? Does he plan on fighting other heroes like Green Arrow and the Atom? Every day, the American people grow more and more afraid of Superman, and he refuses to explain himself before out committee."

Clark closed out the screen and leaned back in his seat. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the black screen. Great. Now the whole country was paranoid, thinking he wanted to eliminate every other hero out there. Thinking he actually wanted to take over the world. And people like the Question and Senator Finch fed into that paranoia.

This had to end. He had to tell his side, show that Finch and the Question and others like them were out of line. Lois told him not to appear before the Senate committee, but how much longer could he let all these lies go unchallenged?

The door to the apartment opened. Lois was back from her workout.

Clark took a breath, bracing himself for the argument he knew was coming.

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	15. Chapter 15

"Senator." Luthor beamed from the booth at Hagan's, one of Washington DC's most upscale restaurants. "So good of you to come."

"Lex." A hint of a smile formed on June Finch's lips as she sat opposite him.

"Enjoying your day off from the Superman hearings?" Lex maintained his smile as he scanned the menu, though he already knew what he would order. The turkey avocado sandwich here was outstanding.

"It's not a day off for me. I'm preparing questions for Superman's appearance Wednesday." Finch open the menu, looked at it for a few seconds, and placed it on the white linen cloth that covered the rectangular table.

 _She's probably ordering a salad._ Given Finch's skinny frame, she looked like someone who ate salad for lunch and dinner. Probably breakfast, too. "Well, I give you credit. You finally did it. You got the Man of Steel to appear before your committee."

"It's long overdue if you ask me."

A red-jacketed waiter with a bow tie came over and took their orders. When he left, Luthor clasped his hands and leaned forward. "So, after you finish raking Superman over the coals, what then?"

"The people will know the truth about him, and about what happened when he fought General Zod."

"Uh-huh. And then what?"

Finch leaned back, drawing and holding a breath, apparently thinking of her next response. "Then we can have closure."

Luthor chuckled, shaking his head.

"What's so funny?" Finch's eyes narrowed.

"'We can have closure.'" Luthor resisted the urge to mock the Senator's Kentucky accent. "That's politician speak for nothing is going to happen."

Finch's face tightened in anger. Her gaze shifted to the large French windows running along the wall. Luthor leaned back and smirked. That reaction confirmed he was right.

"You know as well as I do nothing ever comes out of these hearings," Luthor smirked, "except to give the news networks something to fill a lot of time. No one goes to jail. No policy changes are made. It's just face time for politicians looking to climb the DC power ladder."

"I'm trying to give the American people what they, what we, have deserved for nearly two years. The truth about the Battle of Metropolis."

The waiter returned with their drinks, a sweet peach tea for Finch, and a sparkling water for Luthor. They resumed their conversation when he left.

"Save it for the soundbites, Senator. You know I'm right." Luthor locked eyes with her. "But, I can help change that."

Finch wrapped her slim fingers around her drink, which remained on the table. "How?"

"Do you really believe 'the truth' will make Americans feel safe? Do you think that will reassure them when they wonder, 'What will happen if Superman tries to take over the world?' Do you think the President and all the generals and admirals at the Pentagon are going to feel relieved after Superman talks to your committee, or are they going to still be thinking, 'We have no way of stopping this alien menace'?"

"And you do?" Finch cocked her head in a disbelieving look.

Luthor grinned, pulled out his phone, and opened a file. He slid it across the table to Finch, sipping his sparkling water while she read it.

After a couple of minutes, Finch looked up. "You're serious about this?"

"Of course. My scientists say it is doable. All we need is Zod's body."

Finch shook her head. "This is preposterous."

"There's a man out there who developed technology to shrink himself to the size of an ant, and you're calling this preposterous?" Luthor pointed at the phone. " _That_ , is how you show everyone this hearing will be different from all the others. You're in the good graces of the President and most of his Cabinet. You can persuade them to do this. Then they . . . we, will finally have protection against Superman."

Finch stared hard at the phone, then at Luthor, who slowly fiddled with the ring on his left hand. "And you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

Luthor softly chuckled. "You know that's not how Washington works. I'm sure you have bigger ambitions than being a senator from Kentucky. Perhaps the White House."

Finch sat up straighter. He definitely had her attention.

"It takes a lot to run a Presidential campaign. Money, media consultants, marketing experts, good speechwriters. I have all that. Do me this favor, and it's all yours. You can't tell me that President Finch doesn't sound appealing."

"It does." Finch leaned forward, meeting his gaze. "There's just one problem."

"And what would that be?"

"I would owe you, for the rest of my life, and I don't like the thought of that."

Luthor grunted. "That's harsh, isn't it?"

"I know about your father. Along with stories of unethical business practices, there were also allegations of extra-marital affairs and domestic violence."

Luthor grimaced, shifting in his seat, trying to bury the memories of the beatings. He inhaled, collecting himself. "So I'm to pay for the sins of my father?"

"You're not so clean yourself, Lex," said Finch. "How many Third World sweatshops crank out LexCorp products? How much of your company's profits are in offshore accounts? Allegations of unsafe environmental practices in half-a-dozen countries, rumors of illegal technology transfers to totalitarian regimes. Shall I go on?"

Luthor straightened, forcing a smile. "Everything you said is unfounded. If you took any one of those charges to a court of law, it would be dismissed."

"I may not be able to prove it, but maybe someone will someday. I'd rather not have my name associated with yours." Finch shoved the phone back to Luthor and rose just as the waiter arrived with their food.

"Ma'am, your salad?"

"Let him eat it." She jerked her head at Luthor. "I'm leaving."

"You sure you won't change your mind?" asked Luthor.

"Definitely sure." Finch strode off.

Luthor sighed and looked at his ring. "That's a shame."

 **XXXXX**

"Senator." Luthor waved from his seat at the Dome Grill, a pricy yet casual restaurant two blocks from the U.S. Capitol.

A round, balding man made his way past the center bar and sat across from him. Senator Harold Barnes of Pennsylvania, the vice-chairman of Finch's committee.

"Mister Luthor, a pleasure." The two shook hands. "Thank you for the invitation."

"Of course. So good of you to come. I hope you're enjoying your day off from the Superman hearings."

Barnes chuckled. "No such thing as a day off for a senator." He picked up his menu. "Staff meetings, bills to review, interviews to give. And of course, have to get ready for Superman's appearance."

"It sounds like you're looking forward to it." Luthor scanned his menu. He was truly hungry, and had his eye on the French dip. He had both his meal and Senator Finch's put in to-go boxes when he left Hagan's an hour ago.

"Who wouldn't look forward to putting questions to Superman?"

A waitress came by to take their drink orders.

"So what do you think will happen afterward?" Luthor asked when the waitress left.

Barnes grunted. "What usually happens at these hearings? Nothing. Except Finch's stock might go up. Maybe she gets a Cabinet post down the road, or a crack at the White House. Me? I'll still be stuck in the Senate. Let's face it. This is the June Finch show. All eyes are on her. The rest of us on the committee are simply window dressing.

Luthor smiled. This would be easy. "What if I told you there was a way for your stock to rise? To ensure that something of substance comes out of this hearing."

Barnes lowered his menu. "I'm listening."

"You also sit on the Armed Services Committee. You know people at the Pentagon, the intelligence agencies, the National Security Advisor."

"I do."

The waitress returned with their drinks, took their lunch orders, and left. Luthor eyed Barnes's whiskey sour, then his ring.

"Tell me. Does the military have plans on how to deal with Superman should he decide to pick up where Zod left off?"

Barnes winced. "I'm not at liberty to discuss such matters."

"Uh-huh." Luthor nodded. "Then I'll answer my own question. They do. They have to, and most of their plans likely involve nuclear weapons. Do you really want to annihilate an entire city to get one man? And who even knows if a nuke can stop Superman."

Barnes exhaled slowly. "That is a concern among many in my circle."

Luthor clasped his hands and leaned forward. "What if I told you I had a way to ensure you don't have to level an entire city to get Superman?"

"I'd say show me."

Luthor took out his phone, opened the file, and slid it across to Barnes. He read over it, eyes widening.

"You can really do this?"

"With your help."

Barnes looked back down at the phone, shaking his head. "This just seems so far-fetched."

"As far-fetched as the technology that lets the Atom shrink himself to the size of an ant."

"Good point." Barnes squared his shoulders. "All right. I can talk to some people. It might be hard. Despite the hearings, there are plenty of people in this town who think Superman can do no wrong."

"I'm sure you'll find a way to convince them otherwise," said Luthor. "And I would be very grateful."

"How grateful?"

"Grateful enough to move you from a seat in the Senate to a seat in the Oval Office."

Barnes sat up straighter, his face brightening.

Luthor continued. "It takes a lot to run a Presidential campaign. Money, media consultants, marketing experts, good speechwriters. I have all that. Do me this favor, and it's all yours. You can't tell me that President Barnes doesn't sound appealing."

"Yes it does sound appealing. You've got yourself a deal, Mister Luthor."

The two shook hands. Luthor scanned the nearby tables. All the patrons were engaged in their own conversations, not noticing them. He looked at the TV at the bar, tuned to CNN. It ran an update on the Metropolis shock jock, Leslie Willis, who was struck by lightning during a remote broadcast yesterday.

"Oh, look at that." He pointed at the TV.

Barnes turned around. Luthor flipped open the small compartment on his ring and dumped a white powder into the Senator's whiskey sour. He closed the compartment and withdrew his hands before Barnes turned back to him.

"I've heard of that woman. She has an acid tongue. Went after Superman a lot after the Battle of Metropolis."

"You should have invited her to testify," said Luthor. "She would have livened things up."

"Maybe. Too late now. Hit by lightning, who knows when she'll get out of the hospital, or if." Barnes raised his glass, saluted Luthor, and drained it.

Luthor smiled. _Perfect._

 **XXXXX**

Luthor's Gulfstream business jet touched down at Metropolis International Airport around sunset. Mercy picked him up in a limo and drove to LexCorp headquarters. There, Luthor changed into jeans, a t-shirt, a faded denim jacket, and a Metropolis Monarchs ballcap, then got into another car with Mercy, a six-year-old brown sedan. He had to be incognito for this next meeting.

They drove to one of the less affluent sections of the city, pulling up to an old, brick apartment building. Luthor walked up to it while Mercy stayed in the car. God help the poor dumb soul who tried to carjack her.

He went up to the second floor and knocked on one of the doors. A stout man just under six-feet-tall with white hair answered.

"Yeah?"

"Garfield Lynns?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Lex Luthor." He extended his hand.

Lynns eyed it warily. "Yeah right. Lex Luthor wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this."

Luthor took off his ballcap and held his hand under his face. "Are you convinced now?"

Lynns just grunted. "So what does the exalted Lex Luthor want with me?"

"May I?" Luthor pointed his hand at the apartment.

Lynns opened the door all the way, letting him inside. The place was simply furnished. A few framed photos stood on top of an entertainment center, one showing Lynns with a thin blond woman in a wheelchair.

"So." Lynns closed the door. "What do you want with me?"

"It's not so much you I want to talk to, Mister Lynns, as your alter ego . . . Firefly."

Lines etched into Lynns's face. "I don't do that anymore."

"But wouldn't you want to, just one more time, for your sister?" Luthor nodded to the photo.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Lynns clenched his fists.

"Gabrielle. She worked at Wayne Technical, before the Battle of Metropolis, before she was paralyzed when the building came down."

"I know what happened to her. Why do you care?"

"Because that battle also killed employees of mine. Because these Senate hearings are meaningless. Because someone needs to do something about Superman before he decides instead of supposedly protecting us, he should be ruling us. And that someone is you, Garfield. Or rather, Firefly."

Lynns responded with a humorless laugh. "You think I haven't dreamed of killing that son-of-a-bitch? My sister was on her way to a great career. Gabby was going to make something of herself, more than her ex-con of a brother. Superman took all that away. She's paralyzed for life, she still goes to a therapist for all the mental trauma she suffered, even tried to kill herself once. If I hadn'ta stopped by when I did . . ." He walked over to the photo of him and his sister and picked it up.

Luthor smiled as Lynns continued. "I used a flamethrower when I was Firefly. What good is that against an alien that can shrug off missiles?"

"What if I tell you I'm in possession of something that can hurt Superman, even kill him?"

"I'd say you're full of shit."

Luthor pulled out his phone and opened a file. "You're a technically savvy person. See for yourself."

Lynns studied what was on the screen. He lifted his gaze back to Luthor. "This Kryptonite stuff is for real?"

"You saw the reports, and you saw the schematics for your new flamethrower. This will work. You can avenge what Superman did to your sister."

Lynns looked off to the wall, brow furrowed in thought. "What about Gabby? She's still on her company's insurance, but there are a lot of other expenses it doesn't cover."

"I'll take care of that. I'll even provide her with the best medical and psychological care for the rest of her life. And I'll make it worth your while." Luthor scanned the apartment. "You can't have a big paycheck if you're living here."

"I stashed some money away from my Firefly days, but that'll run out soon, and being a janitor pays shit."

"How does two million dollars sound?"

"Ha!" Lynns barked. "This is Superman we're talking about. Ten million, not a cent less."

Luthor bobbed his head from side-to-side. "You drive a hard bargain, but you have yourself a deal, Firefly."

He shook Lynns's hand, smiling wide. His plan was coming together nicely.

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	16. Chapter 16

Superman's eyes widened at the sea of humanity surrounding the Capitol. How many were down there? Ten thousand? And how many more would be watching at home?

He let out a breath as he descended toward the walkway leading to the Capitol steps, the only clear space around the white marble building. He clenched his fists tighter, trying to fight off his nervousness. Lois had given him some pointers on what he might expect at the hearing, all the time wearing a sour expression. She still thought this was a bad idea.

 _What can I do? Let Finch convince more and more people I'm a threat?_

A roar of voices surrounded the Capitol when he landed. Many cheered, waving signs of support.

SUPERMAN'S A HERO.

FINCH SUCKS! SUPERMAN ROCKS!

I BELIEVE IN BIG BLUE.

Gratitude rushed through him. Seeing this kind of support buoyed him for the hearings.

He also heard the jeers, and picked out less-than-flattering signs.

ILLEGAL ALIEN GO HOME.

MASS MURDERER.

SUPER NAZI.

Superman tried to ignore them as he headed into the Capitol. His worry swelled. Would he say something stupid? Would he say something that would make the whole world think he was a menace?

 _Just tell the truth. Like Mom said, you can't go wrong with the truth._

Then he thought of Lois's warning last night. "In Washington, a lot of times agendas trump the truth."

He paused at the oak doors leading to the hearing room. It seemed like no matter what he did, Finch and her committee would paint him in a negative light. All he could do was tell his side of the story and let the chips fall where they may.

Steeling himself, he opened the doors.

Every head in the hearing room turned to him. Four Capitol police officers stood near the entrance, all tensing as Superman walked down the aisle. Fifty people sat in the audience, a mix of government officials, special guests, and reporters. Lois was not among them. Unable to secure a seat in the hearing room, she had to settle for the pressroom with dozens of her colleagues and follow the proceedings on the video feed.

An aide indicated for him to sit at a table to the left. He did so, eyeing a wheelchair-bound woman in the front row. A stout man with white hair sat next to her, glaring at him. Superman's jaw clenched, wondering if the woman had been injured during the Battle of Metropolis. Could the man be her husband? Some other family member?

"Superman."

Senator Finch's voice snapped him out of his reverie. Still, empathy for the woman hovered in the back of his mind, along with guilt.

 _Focus, Clark._

"On behalf of my colleagues," Finch continued. "I wish to thank you for joining us for today's proceedings. I'm certain that your testimony will help bring clarity, and perhaps closure, to the tragic events that occurred in Metropolis nearly two years ago."

"That's my hope too, Senator."

"Before we begin," Finch glanced to an empty seat at the podium, "I want to acknowledge the absence of Senator Barnes from today's proceedings. He took ill and is at home recovering. Hopefully, he will rejoin us tomorrow."

She turned back to Superman. "For the record, your true name is Kal-El and you are a native of the planet Krypton."

"Correct."

"On the day Zod and his forces attacked Earth, you assisted the United States Armed Forces in their efforts to stop him?"

"Correct."

"And what was your job during that attack?" asked Finch.

"To destroy the Kryptonian terraforming machine in the Indian Ocean." _Well, this isn't too bad,_ thought Superman, though he doubted the questions would get easier as they went on.

"And what did you do once the terraforming machine was destroyed?"

"I returned to Metropolis and fought Zod." Superman glanced at the woman in the wheelchair. Lines etched into the face of the man next to her, his hateful gaze directed at him.

Finch folded her hands and leaned toward her microphone. "Did the military request your help to fight Zod in Metropolis?"

"No." Superman's shoulders stiffened. Lois had told him Finch might do this. Toss him some softball questions to put him at ease, then bore in with the harder ones.

"So you took it upon yourself to go to Metropolis to fight a being almost as powerful as you? In the middle of a city of eleven million people."

"Zod was a threat not just to Metropolis, but to the whole world. He had to be stopped."

"You didn't answer my question," said Finch. "Did you receive any authorization by the U.S. military to battle a superpowered being in the middle of one of the largest cities in America?"

Superman concentrated to keep his shoulders from sagging. "No, I did not."

"Were you aware of the risk to civilian life such a battle would pose?"

He lowered his head slightly. "Yes."

"Yet you still fought Zod."

Superman let out a slow breath. "Yes."

Finch shook her head. "All that destruction. Thousands dead, thousands more injured, some who will never fully heal." She glanced at the woman in the wheelchair. "All because you felt you had to be a hero."

"No." Superman's head snapped up.

Finch drew back a bit. "Are you telling this committee what happened in Metropolis was not your fault?"

"N . . . I . . ." Superman closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts.

Finch apparently took the silence as a cue to speak. "Do you ever think about that day? All the lives lost?"

"Of course I do," Superman replied louder than he wanted. Several people in the room jerked in surprise. He exhaled and continued. "Yes, what happened that day still haunts me. How could it not? All I wanted to do was protect the people of Metropolis, of Earth. You have no idea how many times I've gone over that fight in my head, wondering what I could have done differently."

"You mean like taking Zod out to the ocean and fighting him there?" chimed in one of the other senators, Dempsey according to his nameplate. "Why didn't you do that?"

Superman groaned, barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes. "Have you ever been in a fight, Senator?"

"I got into a few when I was younger."

"Did you find it easy to move your opponent wherever you wanted him to go?"

"Um, no." Dempsey frowned and looked away.

Finch turned at her colleague, her face tightening.

"It was the same with Zod," said Superman. "If I could have, I would have taken him away from Metropolis. But he was determined to kill me. He wasn't going to let me do whatever I wanted in that fight. I had to defend myself and try and protect the city as best as I could. But whe-"

"Liar!"

All eyes turned to the white-haired man. He snatched something out of the back of the woman's wheelchair.

"This is for my sister, you alien scum!" He leveled a large pistol at him. "Die!"

A jet of flame leapt from the barrel. People screamed and bolted from their seats. The police officers drew their guns, but had no clear shot.

Superman sprang from his chair. The fire washed over his torso with no effect. Wind howled through the room as he rushed over to the flamethrower man. He grabbed the barrel and crushed it. The fire ceased.

The man stared at his useless weapon, mouth agape. "N-No. No."

Superman cranked an eyebrow. Who the hell was this guy?

A mechanical whine came from the flamethrower. What could it –

An explosion tore through the hearing room.

 **XXXXX**

"Yes, you did pick a good day to be sick, Senator." Luthor grinned as he spoke into the phone to Barnes. All the while, he stared at the flatscreen on the wall of his office. FOX News showed a live shot of the U.S. Capitol, now cordoned off by police. The graphic read, "Explosion Rocks Capitol. Dozens Reported Dead."

"I swear, I'm still shaking." Barnes coughed. "It doesn't have anything to do with the chills. Just . . . if I'd been there . . ."

"I know. Rather sobering, isn't it?"

Barnes hacked again. "How . . . How could this have happened?"

"My theory is when Superman crushed the gun, it damaged the gas container. It must have ignited, then exploded. The fuel mixture must have been augmented since it burned the entire hearing room and everyone in it . . . well, minus Superman."

"Careless," Barnes sighed. "That man is just careless."

"And he's sure to be careless again and again. How many more innocent people will die because of it?" Luthor straightened in his chair. "You know what we have to do."

Silence hung between them for several seconds. "I'll talk to Armed Services Committee, my contacts in the Pentagon. I'll convince them to give you what you need. Zod's body, access to the Kryptonian ship. Believe me, I will convince them."

"Good. Thank you for your help, Senator, and trust me, you will be rewarded for it."

After bidding Barnes good-bye, Luthor set down the phone and looked up at Mercy. "There's nothing like a close shave with death to help change one's perspective."

"It was lucky that Superman touched Lynns's guns and activated the biometric sensors."

"Touch, heat vision, freezing breath. The sensors were designed to overload the flame gun if touched by a non-human, or if it detected the radiation signature of Superman's heat vision, or from a sudden temperature drop." Luthor chuckled softly. "And Lynns was so eager to payback Superman he really believed I'd load Kryptonite into the gun."

He leaned back in his seat and let out a contented breath. "It's all coming together, Mercy. It's all coming together."

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	17. Chapter 17

Arms folded, Bruce Wayne leaned back in his chair, glaring at the large monitor in the Batcave. A CNN reporter spoke to the camera, while behind her firefighters emerged from the Capitol Building.

"From the initial footage of the fight between Superman and the suspect," said the attractive, raven-haired reporter, "now identified as Garfield Lynns, also known as the costumed arsonist Firefly, experts theorize that Superman crushing the flamethrower caused the internal pressure to build to the point the weapon exploded. At last count, thirty-one people in the hearing room were killed, including Senator June Finch and five other senators on her committee. Another twenty-seven were injured, including two other senators."

Bruce shook his head. The alien son-of-a-bitch couldn't have blown out those flames with his freeze breath? Or just grabbed Firefly and flown him out of the building? Did he not know the risk of plugging up a flamethrower?

Did he not care?

"You've been watching this for three hours." He heard Alfred's voice behind him. "No doubt the reporters are repackaging the same information twenty different ways. Do you really hope to learn anything new?"

"I may if I keep watching." Bruce did not turn away from the monitor.

"I think you're only watching this to further fuel your anger at Superman."

Bruce swung around to face his butler. "You think I shouldn't be worried? Or concerned? Over thirty people are dead and almost as many were injured."

"Yes, it is a tragedy, but do you think he wanted that to happen? Remember . . ." Alfred pointed at him. "You made your share of mistakes in your early days as Batman."

"None of my mistakes caused the deaths of dozens of innocents." Bruce sprang out of his chair. "Thousands when you include the Battle of Metropolis. How much more proof do you need that this alien is doing more harm than good?"

"And with all the lives he had saved, all the good he has done, when will you realize he is not our enemy?"

"Maybe not today, but how many more incidents like this will happen?" Bruce aimed a finger at the newscast. "How many times will the authorities let him walk without any consequences? How many more will die before he believes he can get away with anything?"

"This is all speculation on your part." Alfred stepped closer to him. "You have no idea whether or not that will happen."

"Even if there is a one percent chance it could happen we have to take it as absolute fact, and we need to be prepared."

He brushed past Alfred and strode toward the glass case containing his batsuit. "And need that Kryptonite from Luthor, now."

"Are you even certain it will work?" asked Alfred.

"All the tests indicated the radiation killed Kryptonian cells. It has to work."

"It kills Kryptonian cells, you say?"

"Yes." Bruce punched in the code on the case's electronic keypad.

"Does that mean you plan on killing Superman?"

Bruce's hand froze before he grasped the handle. The word "kill" echoed in his head and sent a chill down his back.

"Are you going to do that which you pledged never to do?" Alfred's tone was somber. "Are you willing to risk your soul over something that might not ever come to pass?"

Bruce stared at the floor, clenching a fist. His shoulders rose and fell with slow breaths. A minute of silence passed before he turned to Alfred. "We're not talking about the fate of a city or even this country. We're talking the fate of the human race. I'll do whatever I have to to stop him."

 **XXXXX**

Clark's stomach churned as he walked through the darkened streets of Washington. The images from the burned out hearing room haunted him. The sight of charred bodies, the sickening smell of burnt flesh.

 _All my fault._

He trudged across Columbus Circle and into Union Station. Several people passed the time waiting for their trains in front of televisions. All were tuned to news stations, and all of them ran the same story. The explosion at the Superman hearings.

Clark avoided eye contact with everyone. How many blamed him for the blast? What would they think if they knew Superman was walking right past them? He got a hint of that when he was being interviewed by the police and fire investigators. The mistrust, the fear in their eyes was evident. How many more people across the country, around the world, felt the same?

He found Lois at the platform for the train back to Metropolis.

"Clark." She hugged him tight. "I'm so sorry."

He buried his face in her neck. "It happened again." His voice was barely a whisper. "I tried to save people and . . . why does this keep happening?"

"It's not your fault."

"Isn't it?" Clark slid out of their embrace, and checked around to make sure no one was within earshot. "Maybe my dad was right. Maybe the world isn't ready for someone like me." He bit his lip for a moment. "Maybe I'm not ready for these kinds of powers."

Eyes glistening, Lois put a hand on his cheek. He waited for her to utter her usual words of wisdom, to try and make him feel better, to renew his purpose in this world.

She said nothing.

What could she say? What words could possibly erase what he had done?

They sat on a bench in silence, holding hands, waiting for the train. He thought of the Superman suit beneath his clothes, and cringed. Would the world be better off if he got rid of it? If he became only Clark Kent? General Zod and his Kryptonian renegades were all gone. There were no superpowered beings to threaten humanity. All the threats in the world could be handled by law enforcement or the military, or other costumed heroes. The sane, responsible ones like Green Arrow or the Atom, not the lunatics like Batman and the Question.

How badly was Superman needed?

Lois's phone chimed. She looked at the screen, as did Clark.

Perry had sent a text message. _You still in DC?_

 _Yes,_ Lois texted back.

 _Good. Get reax from our congresswoman and our U.S. senators on the President's announcement._

"What announcement?" asked Clark

Lois's thumbs hovered over the phone's keyboard graphic, ready to text Perry. "No, I better not ask. Then Perry will go, 'What kind of a reporter are you that you don't know?'"

She accessed a news website and played a video of the President's press conference, which aired ten minutes ago.

"Federal agents are combing the remains of the hearing room, gathering evidence from today's explosion. While they have not reached a definitive conclusion, the video from the last few seconds leading up to the blast is very troubling. Until the FBI and other agencies have concluded their investigation into today's tragedy at the Capitol, I must ask Superman to suspend all his crimefighting and public safety activities."

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	18. Chapter 18

Batman stared out the canopy of the batwing as it hovered over LexCorp Headquarters. No guards on the rooftop. He gazed at the other nearby buildings. All had a patchwork of light and dark windows, mostly dark. At two a.m., most of Metropolis slept. Those who didn't likely wouldn't see his ink black plane against the night sky.

He set the batwing to hovermode and slipped on a bulky pack beneath his cape. It would slow his movements to an extent, but it couldn't be helped. He sure as hell would not carry a radioactive element like Kryptonite with his bare hands.

Batman flicked a switch on the console. The deck beneath the cockpit slid open. He unfastened his straps and slipped through it. Cape extended, he glided to the roof below, his booted feet thumping on the surface. He hurried to the roof door, trying to suppress his worry. Nightwing had given him a lot of details on the security at LexCorp. What his former partner did not have was the location for the Kryptonite. He had ways to find out, but knowing the exact location would have made this quicker. And with a small army guarding this building, getting in and out fast was paramount.

His lips curled. He wondered if he should have brought Oracle in on this. She could have hacked the LexCorp security network, keep him abreast on the locations of the guards, and probably find the location of the Kryptonite. But like Nightwing and Alfred, they didn't view Superman as a threat. From here on out, he had to handle this himself.

Batman checked the roof door for alarms and found none. He tried the knob. Locked. A laser torch burned through it easily.

Now came the difficult part. Nightwing told him, in his words, "They have security cameras out the ass." That included the stairwells.

Digging out a handful of smoke grenades with his right hand, Batman pushed the door halfway open with his left. He chucked in the small bombs. Seconds later, bangs and hisses echoed in the stairwell.

He pushed open the door the rest of the way and fired a grappling hook into the ceiling. Leaping over the railing, he lowered himself through the smoky air, passing one floor after another. His best guess was Luthor would keep something that valuable on the middle floors, that way would-be thieves would have to go a long way to reach it, and a long way to exit the building, giving security plenty of time to catch them.

The door to the thirty-seventh floor opened. Two gray-clad men in ballcaps stepped into the landing. LexCorp security.

Batman slid past them.

"Holy shit!" one blurted, going for his sidearm.

Batman kicked his legs back, then swung forward. He let go of his grapple gun just as the first shot exploded through the stairwell. The round clipped the edge of his cape as he flew over a railing and planted his feet on the landing of the thirty-fifth floor. He kicked open the door and tossed in another handful of smoke grenades. That would foul up any security cameras in the hallway.

"Intruder on the thirty-fifth floor," one of the guards shouted as heavy footfalls pounded down the stairs. "Repeat, thirty-fifth floor."

Batman grunted. The guard had to be radioing for reinforcements. Well, he never thought he'd get out of here without throwing a good amount of punches and kicks.

The guard's radio also gave him an idea.

Batman entered the hallway, then slid to the left. He stood against the wall, shrouded in smoke. Listening. Waiting.

The footfalls grew louder. The door flew open with a loud _bang!_ One of the guards had kicked it in. Batman saw the silhouette of arms through the smoke, pistol extended. A human shape moved into the hallway, and coughed. The second guard followed.

Batman threw a right cross into the first guard's cheek. The man stumbled and nearly lost his balance. Batman then pivoted on his side and kicked the second guard in the stomach. He slammed into the wall and collapsed to the floor.

The first guard straightened. Batman kicked him behind the knees, dropping him to the floor. An elbow to the face knocked him out.

Batman patted down the guard until he found his radio. He grabbed it and inserted the earpiece.

"All access points locked down . . . Yes, Mister Luthor's been alerted . . . This is Sutherland. We just reached the thirty-fifth floor."

Batman grinned. He now had access to LexCorps security communications. Hopefully that would lead him to his target.

He stalked down the hallway, throwing more smoke grenades. Feet pounded around the corner. Three pairs. The guards were sacrificing speed for stealth. That worked in his favor.

The first guard rounded the corner . . . and into a clothesline by Batman. The two guards behind him stopped in shock. It cost them. A kick to the stomach and a forearm to the face put them both down.

Batman threw more smoke grenades into the stairwell, then followed a few seconds later. He descended the stairs, all the while listening to the radio.

"Sutherland? Sutherland, are you there? . . . The smoke's messing up the cameras. I can't get a good look at the intruder . . . Get more men to the thirtieth floor. If anything happens to that rock Luthor'll have our asses."

"Thank you." Batman smiled. He attached a grapple to the railing, jumped over, and lowered himself to the thirtieth floor. He propelled himself onto the landing, chucked some smoke grenades through the door, and entered. He moved down the hallway along the wall, checking the Geiger Counter on his right wrist. Just slightly above normal background radiation.

Batman stopped at an intersection and peeked around the corner. Eight men stood at the end of the hallway, in front of a steel door. Two clutched M4 rifles, the other a Mossberg shotgun. Overkill for one room. The Kryptonite had to be behind that door.

He pulled two flash/bang grenades from his utility belt and threw them around the corner.

"What the hell?" someone shouted.

A pistol cracked. A rifle chattered. Batman pressed his back against the wall as rounds flew past.

Two loud, bass drum explosions rocked the air. Men cried out in pain. Batman whirled into the corner and flung a bat-o-rang. It struck one guard in the face. He crumpled to the floor.

Batman hurled two more bat-o-rangs, never breaking stride. Two more guards fell. One tried to bring up his shotgun. Batman grabbed it out of his hands and rammed the butt into the man's face. He tossed away the shotgun. An elbow strike dropped the fifth guard. Three more left.

One man in gray straightened, face scrunched, trying to fight off the effects from the flash/bangs. Batman grabbed his arm and threw him into another guard. Both crashed against the steel door and sagged to the floor.

The last guard threw a punch. Batman easily avoided it, kicked him twice in the ribs, then punched him in the face. The man joined his fellow guards in a heap on the floor.

Batman pressed C4 along the edges of the steel door, shoved in the blasting caps, and took several steps back. He fingered the remote on his utility belt. Dull thuds erupted from the plastic explosives. The door fell forward.

Staring through the wisps of smoke, Batman saw the stand in the middle of the room, and the green rock encased in glass. He checked his wrist-mounted Geiger Counter, brow furrowed. The radiation level was that of three microwave ovens operating side-by-side. He walked over the fallen door and into the room, eyes flickering between the rock and the Geiger Counter. The reading only went up a few ticks.

"Interesting." He figured something that deadly would have a much higher rad reading.

 _Deadly to aliens._ This thing originated from another planet. Who knew what its exact properties were?

Bottom line, he could have carried the rock out of here with his bare hands and not worry about starting chemotherapy a month from now.

Still, he'd brought the pack with him. Might as well use it.

Batman slipped the large pack from his back, unzipped it, and pulled out a square metal case. He then examined the glass case. The lock was conventional, requiring a simple key. He picked it in less than ten seconds.

Placing the Kryptonite into the case, Batman hurried out of the room and past the moaning guards. He checked around the corner. No guards in sight, though according to the radio, more were on the way.

He dashed down the hall, glanced at a door on his left, and kicked it in. He entered an office with three desks and a floor-to-ceiling tinted window. _Keeping out prying eyes, I imagine._

Batman pressed a wad of C4 onto the window, activated a remote on his belt, and stepped back.

The banging of a door echoed from down the hallway. Several people were running, their footfalls growing closer.

More guards.

Batman set off the charge. The window exploded into hundreds of shards. A sleek, black shape descended into view. The batwing.

He leapt over the desk, ran for the window, and jumped through it. Batman landed in the cockpit, spun around, and dropped into the ejection seat. He hit a button on the console. The canopy began to lower.

Guards appeared in the office's doorway. Batman tensed as two of them raised their pistols. He glanced at the canopy. _Faster. Faster._

The guards fired.

Sparks leapt off the bullet-resistant glass as the canopy slid closed. Batman yanked the control stick left and soared away from LexCorp Headquarters.

He let out a breath, looking at the case containing the Kryptonite. He squared his shoulders. Finally, he had something to put him on even footing with the alien. Finally, humanity had a fighting chance.

Batman pointed the nose of the small jet toward Gotham City. Now he had to get back to the Batcave, figure out the best way to weaponize the Kryptonite, and . . .

His hand tightened on the control stick. Was that the best option? Alfred could not be convinced that Superman was the enemy. The same with Dick and Barbara. Now that he had the Kryptonite, stopping the alien moved out of the realm of talk and speculation. It had become reality.

Would they try to stop him from doing what needed to be done?

He rocketed over Gotham, over his mansion on the outskirts of the city, and kept going.

 **XXXXX**

Luthor clasped his hands behind his back, jaw tight, as he and Mercy exited the elevator onto the thirtieth floor. He had some of the best security in the world, and some caped freak just waltzed in and waltzed out of the place.

 _His_ place.

"We have to keep the police out of this." He glanced at Mercy. "If they start investigating, it could jeopardize everything."

"Our PR people have told the police it was a security exercise that went wrong. No criminal activity took place, and aside from some concussions and broken ribs, no one was seriously hurt."

Luthor raised an eyebrow. "The Bat went easy on our guards."

"Yes he did." Mercy nodded.

Luthor grunted and looked down at the floor as they kept walking. "But I won't. I want every guard who was on duty tonight fired."

"Yes, Mister Luthor."

"And lean on our friends at city hall. Make sure they dissuade the police if they want to look into this matter further."

"Yes, Mister Luthor."

They halted in front of the stand, supporting a now empty glass case. Luthor drew a slow, angry breath. He thought the Bat's attack on Knyazev's convoy coincidence, that he pursued the so-called KGBeast simply because the man was a criminal. But what if he'd known about the Kryptonite this whole time? After his fight with Superman the other week . . .

Luthor shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His muscles relaxed. A smile creased his face. "The Dark Knight versus the Man of Steel."

"Sir?" Mercy gave him a quizzical look.

"I think the Bat knows exactly what Kryptonite can do, which means we have to upgrade all our security procedures to prevent such breeches in the future."

"Do you think he's actually going to fight Superman?" asked Mercy.

"Why else would he steal the Kryptonite?"

"What if Batman actually beats him. Won't that jeopardize Project Doomsday? Superman would have been the ultimate test subject."

Luthor grinned. "Even if Batman does win, the Pentagon will still want Project Doomsday. Superman isn't the only powerful threat facing this world."

 **XXXXX**

Diana entered her hotel room and strode to the window. It was well after three in the morning, but she didn't feel the least bit tired. Such was the benefit of her superhuman stamina.

That, and Luthor's activity between his headquarters and the crashed Kryptonian ship had increased over the past week. Ever since the bombing of the U.S. Capitol, she noted. During her surveillance, Diana noticed several dark-suited government-looking men and women filing in and out of LexCorp Headquarters and the ship. Could they be working on a way to stop Superman? Maybe target all costumed heroes and meta-humans, including her?

She pulled back the curtain on her window, staring across the street at LexCorp Headquarters. Should she make her move now? No. Rushing into a situation was what she had done during in her younger days. She wanted more information on Luthor's activities before confronting him.

Her gaze settled on the middle floors, where all the windows had been blacked out. Except one that had been shattered. _What happened there?_

Diana sat at the desk and powered up her laptop. She clicked the icon for the security cameras she'd placed around the hotel to observe LexCorp Headquarters. She checked over the past hour, before Luthor and his assistant left the ship in one hell of a hurry.

She sat back, eyes wide, watching a sleek little jet hover in front of the shattered window. She swore the aircraft looked like . . . a bat.

 _Could it be . . ._

A man in a dark costume and a cape jumped out of the window and into the jet, which flew off.

"Well, this is interesting." She rewound the footage, focusing on the case Batman carried.

What did Lex Luthor have that was so important the Dark Knight wanted to steal it?

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	19. Chapter 19

Clark stared at the scant few lines on his computer screen, drumming his fingers on the desk, trying to think of what to write. It was a 150-word story to fill some space on page seven of the _Planet._ It shouldn't be this hard. But that had been happening every time he'd written a story since the Capitol explosion over a week-and-a-half ago. He replayed the fiery blast in his mind's eye, wondering what he could have done differently.

Elbows on his desk, he leaned forward and rubbed his forehead. When would the FBI finish its investigation? Would they find out why Firefly's flamethrower had exploded?

 _And how can they do that when there's barely anything of that weapon to examine?_

Even if the FBI found that the explosion wasn't his fault, what would it matter? It would be another example of innocent people being hurt or killed when he tried to help. The story of his life, it seemed, ever since becoming Superman.

Clark lowered his head. Maybe his father had been right. Maybe the world was not ready for him. All his life he'd wanted to use to powers to help, to do good. But he'd never had any formal training to use his abilities, to know how to fight while avoiding collateral damage. And who the hell was out there to teach him these things? Who had the same powers, and the experience in using them?

Answer, no one.

 _But . . ._ Clark's gaze fixed on the corner of his desk as he thought. There might not be anyone on Earth as powerful as him, but there are others who'd been superheroes longer than him. Maybe he could get advice from someone like the Atom or Green Arrow. Certainly not the Question, unless he wanted to know how to fight reptilian aliens in human guise or chemtrails or whatever delusions that crackpot believed in.

Would they have good advice, or would they not be able to relate to him, never having thrown people through buildings or fired heat blasts from their eyes?

Clark rolled his chair closer to the desk, exhaling loudly. He made himself focus on the story. Anything to get his mind off all the crap of him being Superman.

He started typing. The story concerned the U.S. Navy naming its newest amphibious warship the _USS Metropolis._ Clark inserted quotes from a city councilman and a Navy vet from the local American Legion post about the honor, then finished it off with some specifics about the ship.

He read it over, ran it through Grammarly, and sent it off to Perry. A nice enough story, but not the sort of meaty, foundation-shaking story that other reporters like Lois were known for.

 _It could always be worse. You could be stuck writing obituaries._

Next, he opened his contacts page and highlighted the spokeswoman for the state transportation department. Night work had been slated for next week for the part of the interstate running through Metropolis. It wouldn't have the sort of impact as road work during the day, but the city's night owls would probably like to know their drive would be . . .

Clark caught movement out the corner of his eye. Kristen Oyler, one of the _Planet's_ crime reporters, threw various items into her bag and hurried away from her desk.

"Hey, Kristen," he called to her. "What's going on? Hostage situation at city hall?"

"Even better. Leslie Willis is on a rampage."

Clark drew his head back in surprise. "The shock jock? Didn't she get hit by lightning? How can she be on a rampage? Last I heard, she was barely alive."

"She got better, and powerful," Kristen replied. "According to the cops, she can shoot lightning bolts from her hands. Can you believe it?" Her voice went up an octave. "Superman, Zod, now this. The world's going crazy, Clark. On the upside, it'll keep us in business. Gotta go."

She hustled to the elevator.

Clark chewed on his lip. Another menace with superhuman powers? He started to rise, then stopped. He'd promised to honor the President's request to stop being Superman until the investigation into the Capitol explosion was complete.

Surely an exception could be made for this. Could the police even stop someone like Willis?

But he didn't like going back on his word. He'd grown up in a community where giving your word meant something, and his parents had reinforced that belief.

His finger hovered over the laptop's touchpad. He shouldn't do it. He shouldn't . . .

He clicked on the website for WGBS TV. It showed a live shot from 8th Street. A slender woman with short, shock-white hair wearing a black, form-fitting outfit stood in the middle of the street as two MPD patrol cars pulled up near her. Clark winced as lightning bolts from her hands blasted the front ends of the vehicles. Sparks and smoke poured from their engines. Civilians on the sidewalk ran screaming.

"Willis now appears to be heading to the Marchek Building," said the reporter off camera. "One of its tenants is Metro One Hundred, the biggest rival of Willis's radio station."

Clark checked his watch. Just after 9:30 a.m. Bill Thornton, the so-called Madman of Metropolis, was still on the air. He'd become Leslie Willis's major rival over the past year, to the point the two got into a shouting match a few months ago at a bowl-a-thon for the local Boys and Girls Club. Could she be going to attack him? Maybe . . .

Teeth clenched, he thought about the police cars Willis took out with ease. Would the Metropolis cops be able to deal with her? Would she keep attacking the city even if she got Thornton?

The camera panned to one of the burning police cars. An officer dragged his partner out of it, the wounded man's face covered with cuts and burns.

Clark clenched his fists. How many more people would Willis injure, or God forbid kill? Could he just sit here while that happened?

 _You made a promise, to the President no less._ Did that promise extend to letting a woman who could shoot lightning bolts rampage through Metropolis?

Clark pushed himself to his feet and strode across the newsroom. He passed Lois's desk. She had a phone to her ear, talking to someone, then looked up at him.

"Clark?" She covered the receiver with her hand. "Clark?"

He ignored her, pushing open the door to the stairwell. Clark lifted his head, scanning the floors above with his x-ray vision. No one was using the stairs. In a flash, he made it to the roof, already in his Superman uniform. He leapt over the enormous, brass globe with the _Daily Planet_ banner and flew to 8th Street.

More police cars and ambulances speed toward the scene, along with an armored van carrying a SWAT team. Superman easily beat them all to the Marchek Building. He scanned the fifty-story structure with his x-ray vision. Willis was already on the twentieth floor, which housed the offices of Metro 100. He also spotted Thornton and his show staff running for an elevator.

Superman focused on an empty office and streaked toward it. The window and the surrounding steel exploded into fragments as he smashed through it. He stopped in the hallway, a few feet behind Willis. She swung around, electricity arcing around her body.

"Well, well, well." She grinned. "Look who it is. The big, blue alien murderer. Gonna bring the building down on me? Kill me and a couple thousand other people? That is your thing, isn't it?"

Superman glowered at her. He let out a harsh breath. Now wasn't the time to relieve his fight with Zod. "Ms. Willis . . ."

"No no." She wagged a finger at him. "New name now. Call me . . . Livewire."

"Okay, Livewire. This needs to stop."

"You kidding me? I thought I was done for when that lightning hit me. Instead . . ." A bolt leapt from her hand and sparked off the ceiling. "See that. No more spouting off into a microphone or on Twitter about what a racist, ranting asshole Thornton is. Now I can shut him up once and for all."

"This is wrong." Superman took a step forward. "People have gotten hurt because of you. Please stop. Let me take you to a hospital where you can get help."

Livewire bobbed her head left, then right. "Mmmmm . . . No."

Lightning bolts flew from her hands. A hot, hammer blow threw Superman across the hall and through the wall. Glass and steel burst all around him. He tumbled once, twice, then righted himself above the city. He stared through the hole with narrowed eyes, then flew back inside the building.

"Livewire!" Superman landed a few feet behind her.

She sighed. "You're back?"

"I tried to be nice about this."

Livewire turned to him. "Yeah, I'm not into nice guys."

She raised a hand.

Superman moved in a blur. He slipped behind Livewire and wrapped both arms around her.

"Get off me, you prick!"

Arcs of white bolts surrounded the two. Tremors of white hot energy burned through Superman's body. He gritted his teeth, fighting off the pain. He kept his hold on Livewire.

"Oh, screw this."

The woman shimmered and turned into a lightning bolt. It zipped into one of the ceiling lights and vanished.

Superman stumbled back, taking deep breaths. Every inch of his body stung. He shunted the pain aside and looked up at the ceiling, blinking in amazement. Not only could Livewire shoot electricity, she could actually turn herself into living lightning.

He x-rayed the ceiling. Several wires glowed more intense than the others, and led out of the building. That had to be Livewire.

Superman flew outside, checking the street below. Sparks blasted out of a streetlight. A bolt streaked to the sidewalk, and formed into a woman.

Wind rushed around Superman as he dropped in front of Livewire. Several civilians ran away from them. Good. Maybe this time he could fight a superhuman menace without hurting any innocents.

"Enough!" He slashed a hand in front of him. "Thornton's probably long gone. Give up before you make things worse for yourself."

"Give up?" Livewire barked out a laugh. "You've seen what I can do. You think a prison can hold me? Hell, even you can't beat me, you alien freak. I own this friggin' burg."

Superman's jaw stiffened. How the hell did he capture someone who could turn into electricity? And how do you contain someone like that?

 _Think. What counters electricity?_

He had the answer when Livewire nailed him with another blast. Superman flew backwards.

A metallic crunch engulfed him. Hundreds of glass shards flew around him. He grimaced, shook his head, and looked around. The breath froze in his lungs.

He'd hit the front of a bus. Three people lay on the aisle, moaning. A woman a few seats away clutched her face, blood flowing beneath her hands. To his left, the driver was trapped behind crumpled metal.

Superman reached over to help the man when he noticed Livewire walking toward them. Bolts of electricity crackled from her hands.

He pushed himself forward, flying out of the bus. The last thing he wanted was for the people in the damaged vehicle to get burnt to a crisp because of him.

Superman soared over Livewire. She fired, missing him. He rolled on his back and unleashed his freezing breath. A dome of ice stretched over the street, anchored by the buildings on either side. He righted himself and landed halfway down the street.

Livewire looked up at the ice dome and snorted out a laugh. "You making an igloo? Oooh, I'm so scared."

Superman raised his head. Intense red beams shot from his eyes and struck the ice dome. It melted, turning into an instant downpour that drenched Livewire. Sparks erupted all over her body. She arched her back and screamed. The sparks blotted her out.

Suddenly, they dissipated. Livewire swayed, then collapsed.

Superman reached her in one jump. With his super hearing, he detected breathing and a heartbeat. Good. She was still alive. And his idea worked. Water and electricity never mix well.

He hurried to the bus, splashing through puddles left over by the melted ice dome. Firefighters and paramedics were swarming onto the damaged vehicle.

"Here, let me help." Superman reached out for the trapped driver.

"Haven't you done enough?" snapped the woman with the bloody face.

Superman stared at her for a moment, bristling. He sighed and pulled back the crumpled metal pinning the driver. The man cried out in pain. Superman grimaced at the sight of the driver's bloodied legs. My God, they looked bad. Would they have to be amputated?

"Thanks, Superman," said one of the firefighters.

He stood back as the first responders carried the driver off and helped the other injured off the bus. Ten in all.

Superman lowered his head, clenching a fist. He'd stopped Livewire, yet innocent people still got hurt because of him. Worse still, it happened after he'd promised to suspend all his superhero activities.

He could only imagine what kind of backlash would result over this.

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	20. Chapter 20

Bruce shut off the laser and examined the sharp, glowing green tip attached to the metal shaft. It was as perfect as he could make it.

He set the spear down on the metal work table, then glanced at the small, cylindrical objects lying nearby. Using the leftover Kryptonite, he'd made four gas grenades.

Bruce fell into the chair, gazing around the dimly-lit chamber under The Pines, thirty miles south of Gotham. It was one of many small bases he had scattered up and down the East Coast, ready for use in the event Wayne Manor ever became compromised. Or if he needed to do something in secret, so secret he didn't want Alfred or Dick or anyone close to him involved.

Bruce's heavy eyelids drooped. He'd gotten little sleep since he began work on his Kryptonite weapons. But he needed to have them ready to use against Superman.

He slumped in his chair, staring at a glass case on the other side of the chamber. A bulky, armored batsuit stood inside, similar to the one he'd used in the past against Bane. Bruce then turned back to the grenades and the spear. His plan was to use the grenades and the armor to wear down the alien. When he'd sufficiently weakened him, he'd take the spear and move in for the . . .

Bruce clenched his jaw. He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought.

 _You know you have no choice. The very existence of humanity is at stake._

He leaned his head back and shut his eyes. Within seconds, he was fast asleep.

 **XXXXX**

"Haa . . . Haa . . . Haaaaaaaa."

Bruce's eyes snapped open at the sound of the low, ominous laugh. Heart pounding, he spun around, ready to spring out of his chair. For some reason, he remained seated.

A slender man dressed in purple and white emerged from the shadows. A huge grin spread across his chalk white face. Bright green hair stood out on his head.

Bruce clenched the armrests, some invisible force still pinning him to the chair.

"Well, well, well. You're finally going to do it." The Joker took a step toward him. "That whole thing about not killing. You're going to throw it out the window."

Bruce glowered at the psychotic clown as he went on. "I'm surprised it took you this long. Twenty years of dealing with the most depraved, blood-thirsty scum Gotham has to offer, and you still held on to your noble little code. Even I couldn't push you over that damn line, and look at everything I did to you. Blowing up Robin number two, putting a bullet in Batgirl's spine. Most people would have mounted my head on a wall . . . or on a pike in front of their mansion. But not you."

Joker spun around, throwing his arms into the air. "Then some alien in a blue leotard shows up, drops a building on your buddy, and now you're all, 'An eye for an eye.'"

"It's not like that," Bruce growled.

Joker sighed and strode closer to him. "We've been doing our dance for, what, fifteen years? Fifteen years. I did everything I could to get you to feel that rush of ending someone's life, but no. You held strong. Then here comes Superman, someone who only fought once, and that all goes out the window. Frankly, I'm hurt." The Joker patted his chest.

"Aw well." He threw up his hands. "I'll get over it, especially when I see you plunge that Kryptonite spear into Superman's chest. Then . . ." He leaned closer to Bruce. "Then you and me, we'll be same. We'll both be killers."

"You're wrong!" Bruce shouted. "I'm nothing like you. I'll never be anything like you."

Joker howled with laughter. "You always say killing is easy. So what happens after you off the Man of Steel? Who's next? Me? Penguin? Riddler? Scarecrow? Some random gangbanger? Some poor schmuck who didn't pay his parking ticket." His grin grew wider. "Catwoman?"

"Shut up!" Bruce sprang out of his chair.

Joker laughed and hopped a couple of times. "We can have a contest. We'll each have our own graveyard, and see which of us can fill ours the fastest."

"You're sick." Bruce's face twisted in disgust.

"You just wait. The more bodies you put six feet under, the more you're going to enjoy killing."

"Shut up, damn you!" Bruce lunged at him, hands extended. "Shut up!"

The Joker cackled just before Bruce's hands wrapped around his throat.

 **XXXXX**

Bruce jerked awake. He held the armrests of the chair in a death grip, heart hammering in his ears. He drew one deep breath after another, trying to settle himself.

 _It was just a dream. Just a dream._

The Joker's words still echoed in his mind. Would he stop at taking one life? Would he come to enjoy it? What if he liked it so much it stopped mattering if the life he took was guilty or innocent?

 _It's not going to happen. I'm not like him. It was just a stupid dream._

Rubbing his face with both hands, he got up and went to the base's small bathroom. After showering and changing into fresh clothes, he grabbed an MRE from the well-stocked pantry. Bruce put the chicken noodle stew into the flameless heater, ate a peanut butter cracker, and turned on the computer, scanning news sites.

PRESIDENT ORDERS SUPERMAN ARRESTED, the headline on the FOX News website blared.

He set down the cracker in his hand, reading about the alien's battle in Metropolis with an electricity-wielding woman named Livewire . . . a battle that left nearly two dozen injured, including a bus driver whose legs had to be amputated.

 _So much for keeping his promise to lay low._ But what did promises mean to an alien with near god-like powers?

 _And how the hell would the government arrest Superman?_

The article only said federal law enforcement and military forces would be deployed to Metropolis. Bruce hacked into the Department of Defense and Department of Justice computer networks and soon found the order of battle for what the government dubbed Operation: Steel Trap.

One hundred federal agents were on their way to Metropolis, including members of the FBI Hostage Rescue Team, the U.S. Marshals Service Special Operations Group, and the ATF Special Response Team. Two companies of Green Berets would back them up.

 _And Superman can sweep them aside in under a minute._

Then he looked some of the weaponry the soldiers and agents had at their disposal. Sonic devices, lasers designed to disorient people, and M1 Abrams tanks whose cannons could shoot liquid nitrogen. The Navy also had the cruiser _Lake Champlain_ heading to Metropolis. The ship had been retired from active service, but served as a test bed for advanced weapons like rail guns and particle beams.

Bruce doubted any of it would stop Superman. He had no doubt that a battle between the government and the alien would cause massive destruction to the city . . . again. Thousands would die . . . again.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the computer. Would this be it? Would a fight with federal forces prompt Superman to overthrow the government? Take over the whole world?

Bruce looked at the Kryptonite spear. He figured the federal agents and military would need 24 to 36 hours to get into position for a full-scale assault on Superman.

He needed to finish the alien before that happened.

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	21. Chapter 21

Clark leaned back in his swivel chair, his gaze shifting from his computer monitor to the ceiling. He let out a loud sigh. Even on the best of days it was hard to write a boring story like this recap of tonight's Metropolis Planning and Zoning Commission meeting. With a looming military operation against Superman, it was almost impossible to concentrate.

 _How did it get to this point?_ Actually, the bigger question was what was he going to do about it? He couldn't bring himself to fight the military, defy government. Did he quit being Superman? And what happened if another threat like Zod or Livewire appeared? Who would deal with it? The police? Military? Other costumed heroes like Green Arrow or the Atom?

 _Batman?_ He cringed at that thought.

Maybe he should ask Lois. Though she might tell him to ride out the bad press as she had on other occasions.

 _I don't think that's an option this time._ Along with sending in the military, he'd seen several polls on Superman. A few showed a more favorable opinion for him than unfavorable, but only by a few percentage points. The rest went decidedly against him, including one with an unfavorable rating of 70 percent.

Clark couldn't blame the public. For years, decades, they watched powerful people abuse their positions, lie, break promises, and commit any number of crimes, with most never held accountable for their actions. Now here comes someone with powers no one else on the planet possessed, a being some considered god-like. His actions nearly destroyed this city, sparked a bloody civil war in Markovia, killed several US senators, and put a bus driver in the hospital with crushed legs. Had he suffered any sort of punishment for even one of those incidents? No.

Maybe the time had come to –

"Holy crap!"

Kristen Oyler's voice wrenched Clark out of his reverie.

"What is it?" he asked the crime reporter.

"The Bat's at it again."

Brow wrinkling, he sat up straighter. "What now?"

"He left four men in front of the Channel Nine studios in Gotham, bat symbol burned into all of their chests. They put the footage up on their website a few minutes ago."

Clark balled his fists, blood boiling. Damn him. _I told him . . ._

Was the lunatic throwing his threat back in his face? Did he not think him serious?

Did The Bat not care?

He clenched his teeth, pounding away at the keyboard. Clark typed out the P&Z story in about fifteen minutes and sent it to the city editor. Not his best work, but he had other things to deal with.

He took the elevator to the roof, ignoring the light rain that fell. Taking slow, deliberate breaths, he gazed across the Metropolis skyline to the distant, gothic structures of Gotham City. Four more people tortured by the Batman. He doubted any of them were upstanding citizens, but that didn't matter. Nobody deserved to be mutilated in such a way.

Would the Bat continue doing that? How close was he from crossing the line between torture and murder? Could he stand by and do nothing?

A white beam of light rose into the sky from the Gotham side of the river. Clark tilted his head, noting the symbol within the white circle of light that played across a storm cloud.

A bat.

 _Are you kidding me?_ His jaw stiffened. The nutcase was challenging him. That's why he left those criminals at a TV station and not with the police. He wanted it broadcast, wanted him to see it.

He snorted and walked back to the roof door. He'd already broken his promise to stop being Superman once, so what did a second time matter?

Clark had no idea what would happen when the military showed up in Metropolis to arrest him. He'd deal with that tomorrow. Tonight, only one thing mattered.

Putting an end to the Batman's brutality once and for all.

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	22. Chapter 22

It took only a handful of minutes for Superman to cross the bay and into Gotham City. The bat signal sat on the roof of decrepit four-story building that looked like no one had been in it for years, maybe decades. All the buildings, warehouses he guessed, appeared that way. For good measure, he x-rayed them. Every one was empty.

Good. For once a fight where he didn't have to worry about collateral damage.

He hovered over the warehouse, eyes narrowed at the spotlight. He followed the beam into the dark, rainy sky, the bat symbol standing out against the storm clouds, mocking him.

Teeth clenched, he lowered his gaze. A lone figure stood in the alley, cape fluttering in the wind. Something stuck out from his back. A club? He also seemed bulkier than before.

 _He's wearing armor._ Not that it would do this lunatic any good.

Batman didn't move a muscle. He simply stood there, staring up at him.

In a flash, Superman dropped to the ground. The pavement cratered beneath his feet. He aimed a hard stare across the alley at Batman, locking onto the glowing blue eyes of his helmet. He tried to x-ray him, but couldn't see through the armor. It was lead-lined. Did the Bat somehow know about that particular weakness of his?

"Well, here I am," the Dark Knight said in a deep, gravelly voice.

Superman shook his head. "I warned you not to torture people any more. I guess you have a hard time listening."

"I'm surprised you give a damn about those scum. You didn't care about all the people you killed in Metropolis."

"You think that day doesn't haunt me?" Superman yelled, lunging forward. "You think I never stop thinking what I could have done differently? How I could have saved more people?"

"Unless you can go back and change the past, your words are meaningless."

Superman took a slow breath. He'd long since reached the end of his patience with this delusional vigilante. "You know you don't have a chance against me."

Batman grunted. "Is that what you're going to tell the military when they show up to arrest you? Is that what you'll tell any world leader you don't like? Any person, period? Then you can set yourself up as dictator of the world."

"I'd never do that."

"You say that today. What about tomorrow? A month from now? A year? All power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely."

Face scrunched in frustration, Superman looked away. The man was too damn stubborn, too convinced he was a threat to listen to reason.

 _I figured it would come to this._

He turned back to Batman. The dark-clad "hero" had something in his hand. A grenade?

Superman moved in a blur, stopping a foot from Batman. He rammed a hand into the vigilante's chest plate. Batman flew backwards, crashing into the ground and rolling several yards. The grenade bounced away from him. He clutched his mid-section, groaning.

In one leap, Superman landed next to him. Groaning, Batman tried to sit up.

Superman grabbed him by the shoulders and whisked him off the ground. He flung Batman into the corner of the warehouse. Bricks shattered. He dropped face first onto the filthy ground.

Superman stalked over to him. He considered knocking out Batman with one punch and flying him to Arkham Asylum. But no. He'd grown sick of the Bat's arrogance, thinking he knew what was going on in his mind. Thinking he could mutilate anyone he wanted without any consequences. Thinking his moral authority was absolute.

Yes, he'd drop him off at Arkham, but not before he showed the bastard he wasn't as smart and invincible as he thought.

Batman pushed himself to his knees. Superman kicked him in the gut, bouncing him off the crumbling wall. He yanked the Dark Knight off the ground and leapt into the air. Bricks exploded and cascaded around them as they flew through the outer wall. Batman groaned the entire way up.

Superman flung him across the roof. Batman slammed into the side of the skylight. Rearing his arms back, Superman flew toward him, gripping the thick black cape. He eyed the spotlight on the other side of the roof. That damn stupid light with its damn stupid bat symbol.

He whirled around and let go of Batman. A horrendous crash of glass and metal ripped through the air as the armored "hero" collided with the spotlight. The beam vanished. Batman tumbled across the roof, stopping at the edge of a hole. He coughed, groaned, and tried to push up with one hand.

 _Unbelievable. Doesn't he know when he's beaten?_ "Stay down!" Superman stomped toward him. "If I wanted it, you'd be dead already."

Slowly, Batman rose to his knees.

Superman shook his head. It looked like this would go on a little longer, until he humbled this psycho.

Teeth bared, Batman struggled to turn and face him. Superman's brow furrowed. The vigilante had another grenade in his hand.

"That's not going to stop me."

Batman exhaled loudly and slowly lifted his head. "Guess again."

The grenade fell from his hand.

Batman leaned backwards and fell through the hole.

Superman hurried over, staring through the darkened maw. What the hell was that guy's pro—

The grenade exploded. A green cloud surrounded him. Superman drew his head back. What sort of smoke was this?

Dizziness swept over him. His lungs burned. He hacked, sagging to his knees. His muscles turned heavy. All the energy dissolved from his body.

 _What's happening to me?_

 **XXXXX**

Batman fired the grapple gun, the hook burrowing into the ceiling. He jerked to a halt in mid-air, then reeled himself back up to the roof. His gauntlets clamped onto the edge of the hole and he pulled himself out. A green cloud hovered near the opening. In the center, Superman, on his knees, hacking.

Relief coursed through Batman. There had been that doubt in the back of his mind if this Kryptonite would work. Now he knew for certain, thank God.

"That's it. Breathe it in." He rose to his feet and started toward the alien.

The cloud dissipated. Superman struggled to stand, still coughing. He swayed right as Batman neared. Head lolling, Superman threw a roundhouse.

Batman blocked it. The Kryptonian's eyes widened, gazing at his unmoving arm. The disbelief on his face was clear.

A wicked smile stretched across Batman's face. He couldn't help it. The realization had hit the son-of-a-bitch that he wasn't all-powerful.

Batman rammed a knee into Superman's gut. The alien gasped and doubled over. A steel knee cracked against Superman's face. Batman stood him up and punched him, snapping his head back. He pivoted and launched a sidekick into Superman's gut. He stumbled back.

Elbow strike. Knee to the gut. Two punches to the face. Superman reeled. Batman couldn't believe he remained on his feet.

 _Not for long._

He grabbed Superman's shoulders and flung him across the roof. The alien landed on the skylight, which somehow didn't shatter.

Batman ran a few steps and jumped. His armored boots slammed into Superman's chest. The skylight exploded in a mass of dirty glass and wood. His body jarred when they hit the floor below, the blue-clad bastard still beneath his feet.

Fists clenched, he glared down at Superman, his head to the side, dazed. Batman stepped off him . . . and kicked him. Superman rolled across the floor, kicking up clouds of dust.

"Now you know how it feels to be weak, to be ordinary." Batman stomped toward him. "To be vulnerable."

He picked up Superman and drove him face first into a brick wall. Batman grabbed him by the hair and drove his head into the wall, again and again. The alien collapsed.

Batman stepped back and threw a roundhouse kick.

Superman caught his leg.

 _What the hell?_ Shock froze Batman.

Teeth bared, Superman whirled him through the air. Tremors rocked his body as he collided with the wall. Bricks exploded around him. Batman crashed to the floor.

Groaning, he pushed himself up. Pain crushed every inch of his body. He closed his eyes, fighting through it. Pain came with the territory. He couldn't surrender to it or he'd be dead.

And maybe the entire human race.

Batman got up and stared through the wall. Superman had also gotten to his feet, but pressed a palm against the wall, blinking. The Kryptonite had not worn off. Not fully.

Head lowered, Batman charged. He smashed through the remnants of the brick wall and tackled Superman. Both slammed into the floor. Batman yanked up the Kryptonian and drove him against another wall. He punched him in the face once, twice, three times. The fourth punch –

 _Clang._

Batman held his breath. It sounded like metal on metal. He punched Superman again, as hard as he could.

Another dull _clang._ The fingers on his gauntlet bent. Fire shot through his hand and up his arm. Batman growled. He'd definitely broken some knuckles. Maybe all of them.

Superman's face stiffened, his eyes narrowed. He looked _pissed!_

The alien rose off the floor. Batman reached behind him for the Kryptonite spear.

Superman rocketed forward. Pain exploded through Batman's insides. The floor burst beneath him.

They crashed through another floor. Another. Tiles caved beneath Batman. Invisible vises clamped down over his entire body. He tried to take a breath, wheezing instead.

Superman drew back a fist. Batman tensed. _Ignore the pain. Ignore the pain._

The fist came down.

Batman dodged the punch, which cratered the floor. He brought up his legs under Superman's crotch. Using the alien's momentum, he flipped him over.

Groaning, Batman struggled to sit up.

Superman grabbed him by the cape. The world whipped by in a blur. One crash after another battered Batman as he sailed through a row of bathroom stalls. He slammed into the wall, falling on his side.

 _Stupid._ Batman banged a fist on the floor. He hadn't considered the effects of the Kryptonite would wear off so soon.

 _Won't make that mistake again._ Fighting through the pain, he grabbed another grenade and looked up. His chest tightened in dread.

Superman's eyes glowed red. A heat ray blasted across the room.

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	23. Chapter 23

The beam hit a foot away from Batman. A wave of heat flashed over him as the floor collapsed. He gripped the grenade tight, falling, dirty tiles spiraling around him.

A hammer blow exploded across his back when he hit the floor. He tried to breathe. Hot blades tore through his mid-section. Some of his ribs must be broken. Maybe all of them. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to sit up.

The ceiling on the other side of the room burst apart. Superman dropped down, standing amidst the small rubble pile.

"Will you get it through your thick head?" the alien shouted. "It's over. Just stop."

Batman scowled. Stop? Just give up and let him one day rule the world? Or destroy it?

"I'll stop . . . when I'm dead." His hand hovered over his grappling gun.

Superman shook his head and started forward.

Raising his arm, Batman launched the cable through the hole above him. The hook dug into the ceiling three floors above. He shot through the hole, grappling gun in one hand, the grenade in the other.

He kicked forward and landed on the floor, falling to his knees. He forced himself to take a breath. The effort crushed his ribs. Fist clenched, he shut his eyes. No time to worry about pain. The damn alien would be here any –

Superman smashed through the floor, hovering above him. Batman tried to rise.

A red boot struck him in the chest. Batman flew across the room, slamming into the wall. He fell on his side, still holding the grenade. Rolling on his stomach, he slipped a finger into the pin.

Wind rushed around him. Hands gripped his shoulders and yanked him off the floor. Superman locked eyes with him, his face inches away.

"We're done," the Kryptonian growled.

"No. You're done." Batman glanced over his shoulder.

Brow furrowed, Superman looked to the wall . . . where the grenade rested.

The sharp blast pummeled Batman's body. His ears rang. Green mist enveloped them. Superman hacked and let go of him. Batman grunted as he bounced off the floor.

Superman stumbled back, still coughing. He sagged to one knee.

Batman grunted and got to his feet, staring at the weakened alien.

 _Don't let up. Finish it._

He charged, ramming a knee into Superman's face. The alien tumbled across the floor. Batman rushed toward him, kicking him into the wall. He grabbed the top of Superman's tunic and lifted him to his feet. He kept coughing, looking dazed, his body limp.

Batman punched him in the face, again and again. Every strike sent crushing, fiery lances through his broken hand.

He didn't care.

He kneed Superman in the gut. Once . . . twice . . . three times. The alien doubled over. Batman grabbed him by the hair and slammed his face into the floor. He stomped his back with an armored boot. Superman stopped coughing. He only moaned, appearing half-conscious.

Teeth bared, he hefted Superman onto his shoulder and carried him to the hole. With a grunt, he flung him through it. The Man of Steel dropped to the bottom floor, slamming into the ground, cratering it.

Batman fired a grappling hook into the ceiling and lowered himself to the bottom floor. He stood over Superman, who was barely conscious.

 _It's time._ He reached behind him, closing his fingers around the spear. After a long breath, he removed it from its sheath. The green glow from the tip illuminated the room.

Batman held it in front of him, his eyes shifting from the point to the battered form of Superman. Flashbacks spooled through his head. Buildings collapsing throughout Metropolis. Fire. Rubble. Bodies.

Lucius.

He stoked his fury, wanting it to overwhelm him. It was the only way he could do what needed to be done.

Superman's eyes flickered open.

 _Do it now, before it's too late._

"Now you finally answer for all the lives you took." Spear in both hands, Batman lifted it over his head.

Superman's eyes came fully open. He groaned, his head rising a couple of inches. "So this is it. You're going to take that final step. Become a killer."

Batman gripped the spear tighter. He imagined the green tip plunging into the alien's chest, the life snuffed out of him. Lucius and so many others avenged.

Then what? Could he live with that? How much would he change knowing that he had done something he'd promised to never do?

 _What's more important? The entire human race or your psyche?_

"Are you ready for the nightmares?" said Superman. "Are you ready for the guilt?"

"Shut up." Batman's arms tensed. _Do it._

"Are you ready for the fear that you'll do it again? That you'll want to do it? That you'll enjoy it?"

"Shut up!" The spear shook in his grip. "I have to do this!"

"Then do it." Superman sat up slightly. "Just remember, there's no going back once you've crossed this line. You're going to be changed . . . forever."

Batman shut his eyes, trying to block out the Kryptonian's words. Of all the times he needed to be strong, this was it.

But was it strength to kill a man? Wasn't that the easy way out? And when killing became easy, could he stop?

 _Just once, for the sake of the human race._

His shoulders rose and fell. The spear suddenly felt heavy in his hands. He stared into Superman's eyes, eyes that would soon close forever.

Eyes that would no longer fire heat rays and kill thousands.

Batman roared, raising the spear higher . . .

Then flinging it to the other end of the room.

"I can't!" He dropped to his knees, throat tight, tears stinging his eyes. My God, my God, he'd never been so close to taking someone's life. What if he had?

He trembled, fighting the urge to sob.

Superman rose to his feet. Batman looked up, holding his breath. Was this it for him? For all humanity?

"You actually do have a point."

Batman drew his head back. What did he mean by that?

Superman's shoulders sagged. "All the destruction that happened when I fought Zod, all the deaths. You're right. I never had to answer for them. There should be some consequences. Having all this power shouldn't mean I avoid responsibility when people get hurt or killed."

Batman said nothing, just stared at the Kryptonian, noting his voice, his body language. He'd dealt with enough liars in his life to know the signs.

Superman was sincere. He actually showed remorse. Could he have been wrong about him?

 _And I was going to kill him._ He swallowed against the lump in his throat.

Batman slowly got to his feet, facing Superman. "So what do you plan to do? Turn yourself in to the police? Spend time in jail?"

"I don't know if that's doable, since I've never been charged with a crime." Superman looked away for a moment. "But I may have an idea."

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_


	24. Chapter 24

Clark's heart dropped into his stomach as he stared at Lois. She hugged herself, jaw stiff, eyes glistening. My God, this was going to be hard.

 _Part of your penance._ Though Lois didn't seem to fully accept it. Then again, neither did his mother when he flew out to Kansas to tell her about his decision.

"How can you trust him?" asked Lois. "That maniac tried to kill you."

"But he didn't. He could have, easily, but he didn't go through with it. Yes, he has crossed some lines, but there is still something . . . redeemable in him. I think, in the end, he does want to do the right thing."

"I just don't . . ." Lois dropped her chin, shaking her head. "A year? Do you really think this is necessary?"

"Yes."

"But all the good you've done. How can you . . . exile yourself because of what people say on the news and on Twitter?"

"It's not just about them. It's about me. As powerful as I am, I have to take responsibility for my actions. The world has to know I can be held accountable when I do something wrong."

"But you've done nothing wrong." Lois threw out her arms.

Clark crossed the carpet of their apartment and gently held her shoulders. "I wish I could convince myself of that." He forced a smile. "It'll be . . . all right. I can reflect, think. When I come back, I'll be a better Superman . . . a better man."

Lois looked up into his eyes. "You're already a good man. I don't care what anyone says."

A lump grew in Clark's throat. Tears stung the edges of his eyes. "I love you, Lois."

"I love you too, Clark."

They shared a long kiss. Clark backed up a step, holding her hand. Lois choked back a sob. His chest tightened as he held her face in his gaze. He did not want to leave her.

But he had no choice.

Ever so slowly, he let go of Lois's hand, turned away, and left their apartment.

 **XXXXX**

The black shape of the batwing stood out among the gleaming white of the Arctic. Just beyond it lay the crystal-like formation of the Fortress of Solitude.

His prison for the next year.

Superman pulled up and landed in front of Batman, who wore a jet black parka over his costume.

 _Does this guy have any clothes that aren't black?_

"You have everything ready?" he asked the Dark Knight.

"I have drones set up throughout the area, and sensors all along your fortress. If you try to break out, they'll activate and shoot you with a Kryptonite dart. I've also hacked into several military satellites to keep an extra eye on you."

Superman nodded. "You're pretty thorough."

"I need to be to make sure someone like you doesn't break out."

"You think I'll break my word?"

"I've known too many people who have, including some good people."

A half-smile crossed Superman's face. "You do have trust issues, don't you?"

"Stay in that crystal palace of yours for a year without trying to breakout, and maybe I'll start trusting you."

Superman grunted out a short laugh. That might be the closest to a compliment he'd ever get from The Bat.

He stared at the Fortress, lips pressed together. This was it. Alone for a year. No Lois. No Mom. No _Daily Planet_ , though his resignation probably made Perry happy.

And no helping people.

 _And no unintentionally hurting them._

Drawing in a long breath of cold air, he stepped toward his prison.

"Wait." Batman held out a hand. He walked back to the batwing, snow crunching under his boots. He grabbed something from the cockpit and headed back to him.

"Take these. They're from my library. It might help pass the time."

Superman stared down the books in his hands, cranking an eyebrow. Quite an eclectic mix. Biographies and teachings of Plato, George Washington, Winston Churchill, and John Locke. There was definitely more to the Batman's make-up than he imagined.

"Locke is good for exploring the self, equality, and obtaining knowledge through experience," Batman told him. "Plato is good for embracing wisdom and spirit. Churchill had an unbreakable will even in the darkest of times, and Washington knew the importance of not embracing absolute power, no matter how tempting."

"Thank you." He stared at the books again, anxious to see how these great men might help him.

"This may also help, too." Batman handed him a folder.

"What's this?" he asked as he took it.

"After action reports and psychological profiles of other costumed heroes, ones who have been around longer than you. Green Arrow, the Atom, Nightwing, Gangbuster, Mister Terrific, the Question."

"Seriously? The Question?" Superman gave the Dark Knight a dubious look.

"He has done good things . . . when he's not going on about shadow governments and chemtrails. I thought those reports might help you become a better hero, when you get out."

Superman couldn't help but smile. Just a few days ago, this man was ready to plunge a Kryptonite spear into his chest. Now . . . he thought of him as a hero?

"Thank you."

Batman nodded, staring down at the snow for several seconds. "And thank you."

"For what?" Superman's forehead wrinkled.

"For reminding me of who I am, and what I don't want to become."

The breath stuck in Superman's chest, amazed at the other man's admission. He had taken a leap of faith trusting Batman to keep him contained within the Fortress of Solitude. But after the fight in the warehouse, and after that statement, he knew that no matter how close Batman got to that line, he could never cross it. For whatever reason, not killing was ingrained in him.

He waited for The Bat to say something else, but silence hung between them. This was probably as much as the other man was willing to share.

Superman nodded and started toward the Fortress. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Do me a favor."

"What?"

"I know you're busy with Gotham City, but if you can look in on Metropolis from time to time, I'd appreciate it."

Batman nodded.

"But no more branding people. Understand?"

Again, Batman nodded without a word.

Superman trekked across the snow and entered the Fortress. He stood in the doorway, gazing across the white expanse of the Arctic, wanting to burn one last image of the outside world into his mind.

With a deep breath, he touched a crystal on the wall. The door slid down in front of him.

 **XXXXX**

"Senator, so glad you could make it." Lex Luthor strode across the catwalk to greet Harold Barnes.

"Lex." The two shook hands. "You're sure Project Doomsday is ready?"

"I wouldn't have asked you to come to Metropolis if it wasn't." Luthor led him to a horseshoe shaped console, where two white coated technicians sat. Below, in the antechamber of the downed Kryptonian ship flanked by twisting black columns, a large glass tank stood, containing General Zod's body.

"I thought you'd want to see what your efforts have led to," Luthor added.

Barnes shifted his weight. "Um, you know, after Superman announced his self-imposed exile, there are some in the Pentagon and on The Hill who are reluctant to continue with this project. They don't see him as a potential threat any more."

"Well, then, it's up to you to convince them otherwise." Luthor's face stiffened. He held Barnes's gaze until the senator looked away.

"Yes. Of course I will. It won't be a problem."

Luthor grinned. Barnes had picked up his unspoken message. _Convince them otherwise, or you can forget about money for your presidential campaign._

He turned back to the tank, chest puffed out, anxious to see his latest project become reality. The first in a line of super soldiers, obedient to their masters, either the government or him, and powerful enough to stop Superman or any other so-called superhero.

And he could always sell the technology to other countries and organizations, and claim industrial espionage to keep his hands clean.

His smile grew wider, thinking about all the money about fall into Lexcorp's coffers . . . and his own pockets.

"We're ready, Mister Luthor," one of the technicians reported.

Luthor nodded.

Bolts of lighting snaked through the antechamber, connecting with the tank. A blue aura formed around the glass. Zod's body trembled.

Luthor's mouth went dry, doubt scratching the back of his mind. _Stop it. It'll work. It has to._

Zod's body grew, muscles reaching a bursting point. Yet they continued to expand. The head undulated, growing wider. The skin turned gray, almost rock-like. Large, boney growths rose from Zod's back and shoulders.

They pierced the glass.

Luthor, Mercy, and Barnes jumped back as the tank shattered. The lightning enveloped Zod . . . or rather, the being he'd transformed into.

The creature's eyes snapped open. It let out an enraged bellow.

Barnes's lips trembled. "Is-Is that supposed to happen."

 **XXXXX**

 _Finally!_ Diana jumped out of her car. She dashed toward an alley, looking back at the Kryptonian ship. Electric bolts flashed across its surface. Whatever big plan Luthor had, it had to be coming to fruition.

And she had to stop it.

She ducked behind a dumpster and opened her garment bag. Striping off her normal clothes, she replaced them with a red and blue chain mail dress, red boots, bracelets, and a gold tiara. She attached the sword and shield to her back and the golden lasso to her side.

 _Wonder Woman._ She recalled the name Steve Trevor and the other soldiers from the Great War gave her.

Diana stared at the ship, the bolts still arcing across its hull. It seemed the world needed Wonder Woman again.

She leapt over her car and ran across the street. Two Lexcorp security guards stood by the entrance, gawking at the light show.

They never saw her until it was too late.

Wonder Woman kicked the nearest guard in the back, propelling him against the wall.

The second guard swung around, eyes wide. He balled a fist.

He never took a swing. Wonder Woman elbowed him in the face, knocking him cold.

She came up to the steel door. Locked. One kick caved it in. The mangled door toppled to the floor.

Heart thumping with adrenaline, Wonder Woman entered. The air tingled with static. Shouts filtered through the corridors. She picked up her pace, tearing around a corner.

Six Lexcorp guards stood before her, all their faces registering surprise. Wonder Woman smiled. It had been too long since she'd had a good melee.

"Hands up, lady!" The first guard drew his pistol.

"What if I don't comply?"

"Don't test me."

Wonder Woman took a step forward. Another.

The gun cracked.

Her right arm shot up. The bullet clanged off her bracelet and burrowed into the wall.

The guard's mouth fell open in shock.

Letting out a war cry, Wonder Woman kicked him in the gut. He flew backwards, knocking down two other men.

Another guard went for his pistol. Wonder Woman's arm lashed out. The guard spun in the air and crashed to the floor.

The fifth guard, a mass of muscle who had to weigh at least 260 pounds, launched a large fist at her. She avoided the punch, grabbed his arm, and tossed him down the hall with ease.

Something flashed out the corner of her eye. The last guard swung a baton at her.

She didn't flinch as it struck her head, and snapped. Eyes bulging, the guard stared his severed baton.

Wonder Woman lifted him by the collar and threw him into the wall. He crumpled to the ground.

She maneuvered around the fallen guards. Not the greatest challenge she'd ever faced, but still satisfying.

Footsteps pounded around the corner. More guards? She balled her fists, ready.

Lex Luthor charged into view, followed by his assistant/bodyguard Mercy Graves. Another man appeared seconds later, wheezing and clutching his chest. Wonder Woman recognized him from the Superman hearings. Senator Harold Barnes.

Mercy whipped out a pistol and fired. Wonder Woman's hands flashed in front of her, the bracelets deflecting every shot.

Mercy tossed away the pistol and sent a chop toward her neck. She grabbed the slender woman's wrist, spun, and tossed her away. Mercy tumbled across the floor and came to a rest, half-conscious.

"What . . . Who . . . What the hell are you?" Barnes stared unblinking at her, the shock on his face evident.

"You . . . You're the Amazon." Luthor said in a breathless whispered.

Eyes narrowed, Wonder Woman stepped toward Luthor. He backed up.

A powerful, enraged roar tore through the ship.

Stunned, Wonder Woman looked up, unsuccessfully trying to determine the direction of the roar. She then refocused on Luthor. "What have you done?"

 **XXXXX**

 _Might as well get started._ Batman stared out the batwing's cockpit at Metropolis, a patchwork of lights against the night. Just a quick patrol, maybe an hour or two, then back to the mansion.

But where to begin? He had a scant idea where some of the bad neighborhoods were in Metropolis. He also wasn't familiar with the gangs or other criminal organizations that infected this city, or their established hierarchy.

 _I guess I'll have to do some homework._ He did know Triton Avenue in the central part of the city had a fare share of places you didn't want to be at night.

Unless you knew how to take care of yourself.

He pointed the batwing north. Maybe along with taking out any scumbags he came across, he could get some information on –

Flashes of blue caught his attention. He leaned forward in his seat. _What the hell?_

Arcs of electricity leapt across the hull of the crashed Kryptonian ship, which Luthor had been spending quite a bit of time in over the past few weeks.

Batman thought about the files he'd stolen from the man. Could this have something to do with that Project Doomsday, the information he collected on the costumed heroes?

Part of the hull exploded. Batman's eyes widened as a human-shaped figured soared across the sky and crashed into a building across the street. A huge cloud of dust belched from the structure. Debris cascaded to the ground.

Something else smashed through the ship's exterior. Something large, _very_ large _._ It landed in the street, swatting aside vehicles like they were blocks a baby would play with. The thing leaped down the street.

Batman set his aircraft to hover near the Kryptonian ship. His mind raced on how to defeat it.

 _First find out what the hell it is?_

A hatch opened beneath the cockpit. He slipped through it and used his cape to glide to the surface. Craters from the thing's footprints pockmarked the street, lined with a dozen or so overturned vehicles. A maddened roar echoed through the night, followed by a loud crash. The ground trembled.

Batman's stomach went cold.

A grinding noise came from behind him. He swung around. Someone shoved away piles of debris. A woman, with long, curled black hair and dressed in some sort of red and blue armored dress. His head drew back when he recognized her from the photo in Luthor's file.

Diana Prince, the Amazon.

She got to her feet, groaned, and looked at him. "You're the Batman."

He nodded. "Are you okay?" He flinched a bit. Stupid question. The woman was thrown across the street, wrecked a building, fell about fifteen stories, and still lived! Hell, she didn't even have a bruise on her. Just how strong was she?

"What happened here?" He walked up to her.

"Lex Luthor. It appears he made some kind of monster, something that looks like it came from the pits of Hell. Incredibly powerful. We have to stop it."  
Another roar cut through the night, followed by another crash.

Batman tensed. "I think we're going to need some help to do that."

* * *

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED IN BATMAN AND SUPERMAN: DOOMSDAY**_

 _ **COMING SOON**_

* * *

 _Thank you for reading my version of Batman V Superman. I hope you enjoyed it, and feel free to leave a review. I'd love to hear your feedback. Be on the look out for the second installment of this story. Also, if you enjoyed this story, you may also enjoy my novels "War of the Worlds: Retaliation" (with Mark Gardner), "Sea Raptor," "Fallen Eagle: Alaska Front," and "Dark Wings," all available on Amazon – P.S. "War of the Worlds: Retaliation" should be available May 2017._


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